


Marigold Winter

by TheProperLexicon



Category: A Great and Terrible Beauty - Libba Bray, Gemma Doyle Trilogy - Libba Bray
Genre: Future Fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-09
Updated: 2013-04-09
Packaged: 2017-12-08 00:47:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 29,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/755015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheProperLexicon/pseuds/TheProperLexicon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six years later, Gemma is still an outcast for the events of her past. She has hollowed out a little space for herself in Paris, and created a home. But when visions begin to infiltrate her life again, not through her but through her daughter, she will stop at nothing to get answers.</p><p>She will join together with her two best friends as they fight their way through the Realms once again if they must. She will protect her daughter at all costs. She owes him that much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Salvation

It had seemed a dream all those years ago, six to be precise, when I made the choice to give the magic back to the realms and allow the creatures to govern themselves. It had destroyed so much, that magic. So much had fallen in that battlefield before the Tree of All Souls; our innocence, our friends, my love. It had shattered as the magic shattered, spreading out to the edges of the realms and spilling over.

I had thought that I could escape it by traveling to America; New York to be precise. But I had not been in New York City long before I realized that my life had changed in ways that I could not have imagined. I had planned to study at a university in the City, but those plans were tossed to the wayside when my life took that unexpected turn. It became apparent that I could not stay in that country; could not be so far from the support of my beloved friends.

Much to Grandmama’s irritation I left University within only a month. I knew that time was of the essence and I had to be in Paris as soon as possible. The voyage back to Europe was difficult at best. The ship pitched and rolled; I spent most of my days flat on my back in bed, denying myself food so that I may keep myself from disgrace. My steward attempted to be helpful, but after only a few days I bid him to leave me in peace until I could walk on my own.

It took over two weeks to cross the Atlantic, and when I arrived in Paris I had never been more elated to see land in my life. I stumbled off the boat and fell into a carriage. I had no indication of where Felicity might live, so I was forced to find a room to rent while I went in search. It took me a week to find information on her; it required that I inquire in the right circles and those circles were not the same circles that they had been in London.

Before long I was standing before a beautiful townhome of stone and mortar. Windows wound all the way up, with ivy dripping from the roof. In the window of the second floor fluttered beautiful white lace curtains and behind those curtains I could make out the image of Polly, playing the piano beautifully. There was no other movement in the windows, but I knew that this was it. Felicity had successfully stolen Polly away from the poisonous lifestyle of the Admiral’s house and they were forging a life alone and together. I hoped that this life would have room for me as well; for soon I would be cast out of my current life and thrown to the wolves of change.

I moved up the stairs and rang the bell, my heart pounding away in my chest. It took only a moment for an older man to answer the door. He wore the suit of a servant and he greeted me in French. As always, my French was atrocious.

“Um. Fates voo parley la angles?” I asked with a smile that I hoped seemed charming.

“Yes, mademoiselle, I speak English,” he answered, unsmiling. “May I help you?”

“Perhaps,” I said, holding myself up higher. “Is this the home of Miss Worthington?”

“Oui. Whom may I say is calling?” he asked, stepping aside to allow me to enter.

“Miss Doyle,” I answered. He bowed slightly and turned, leaving me in silence.

It took only a moment to find Felicity, I assumed, because I heard a girlish squeal and then she rushed around the corner from another room and ran to embrace me. “Gemma!” she cried, holding me close. I blushed at the attention. “Oh, what a dream! I thought you had gone to America!”

“I had,” I answered as she pulled away slightly. “But I could not stay. It is not the right path for me, I suppose.” I felt that blush coming back into my cheeks as I withheld information from her. But now was not the time to confess all that had happened, and I knew that if I began I would not be able to stop.

Felicity’s eyes darted over her shoulder to where her butler waited and nodded, obviously catching the lack of information and acknowledging my desire for privacy. “Well, never mind that,” she exclaimed. “You are here now and that is all that matters at present. You must stay here!” She turned and took my hand. “François, ready a room for Miss Doyle. Where are your things, Gemma?” she asked.

“I have a room at a boarding house near the harbor,” I answered, grateful that I would not have to ask to stay.

“You shall give François the address and he shall send a boy to fetch your trunks and settle your bill.” She turned to François and said, “ _Voir-y, Francois. Et ayez Bridgette apportent du thé_.” François bowed and backed away, his eyes on the floor. Felicity turned back to me and offered her arm. “We shall have tea in the study,” she said, her eyes dancing. “And you must tell me everything.” Her eyes narrowed darkly. “Everything.” I nodded, suddenly afraid of the truth.

 

Tea was brought in by a tiny maid, she was waif thin and dark haired. Her lips were upturned in a perpetual smile and her eyes, though directed at the ground, were also upturned slightly. Her skin was that of caramel, too dark to be of breeding but too light to be of Asian or Indian descent. The girl brought the tray and reached to pour but Felicity made a clicking sound that stilled the maid’s hand. She gestured the girl away as she said, “Thank you, Bridgette. That will be enough. You may close the door behind you.”

“Yes, miss,” the girl said, curtsying and backing through the door.

As the door clicked shut, Felicity sighed with relief and lounged back against the sofa she was perched on. I took the opportunity to take her in. She wore a tweed skirt that stopped at the waist and a blouse of fine white muslin. At her throat was a tie of red, and her hair was swept off her face and fell in soft blonde curls down her back. She looked radiant and I felt that blush come back into my face.

“Now,” she said, reaching to pour the tea. “Tell me what has really brought you here.”

I felt the story forming in my head but the words caught in my throat. There I was, sitting before her, this girl that I had been practicing for since I had come to the realization in America, and I found that the conversation was caught up on my tongue. “Oh, Fee,” I choked out and the tears spilled over. “Everything has fallen to pieces.”

Felicity came around the table to sit beside me, her arms falling around me. “I know, Gemma. I know. But you did the right thing, even if it was hard.”

“No,” I sobbed, holding tight to her. “I know that I did the only thing I could do in the realms, that is in the past. But my future, it has shattered.”

Her hands were gentle, soft on my back as she brushed at my shoulders, calming me. Her touch was soothing, that of a mother. “Fee, I-” I stopped, unwilling to say the words aloud.

We sat in silence for a long moment, Felicity rocking me gently, making soothing sounds. “It’s all right Gemma. You know all of my darkest secrets, and I know many of yours. You know I shall stand beside you, no matter what has happened, as I stood beside you in the realms, as you stood beside me when I needed you. We are together, darling, no matter the cost.”

I rested my head on her shoulder, sighing out the breath that I had been holding. “Oh, Fee,” I whispered. “I’m,” I choked on the word, but it tumbled from my lips. “Pregnant.”

I felt her go still against me, her heart pounding in my ears. I felt her hands on my shoulders go cold and hard and I feared that she would cast me out of her house for being the worst kind of abomination. “Oh, Gemma,” she sighed, and I heard the tears in her voice. “Oh, Gemma.” It was all she could say, but I heard so much in it. I knew that I had found a home with my outcast best friend, I knew that we would be bound by our secrets; our secrets that had been thrown into light so harshly that we had not found the chance to breathe in their wake.

 

That was six years ago this past June. But now it is December and the snow has been falling for the last three days. Felicity is perched in the window seat, bundled up against the cold of the outdoors. Polly is playing checkers on the floor with Merrily and trying to teach her the rules. I cannot help but smile as I listen.

“No, Merrily,” Polly says. “You can only hop over your opponent’s pieces. You are red and I am black, so you may only hop over my pieces.”

“But Polly,” Merrily intones. “That’s hardly fair. I want to get over to your side, why can I not hop my piece to be kinged?”

Polly sighs, exasperated. “Because those are the rules,” she argues, rolling her eyes. I laugh to myself, causing them to both glance up. “Auntie Gemma, can you please explain this to her?”

“She seems to have a point, Polly,” I answer. By the window, Felicity laughs to herself. “I am tired of being inside, what do you say we go for a stroll?” I ask, rising to my feet.

“Auntie Gemma, it’s snowing!” Polly exclaims, her eyes darting to the window. “We cannot possibly go out into the snow!”

I feel myself channeling Lillian Nightwing as I say, “With a strong constitution, a lady can do anything.” Again Felicity laughs to herself and then throws a glance to me. I arch an eyebrow in challenge and she leaps up from where she sits. “What say you, Fee?” I ask, putting my book down beside me.

“I say that the last one with their cloak on is a rotten egg!” she barks, dashing from the room. Polly is up and running behind her, leaving Merrily and I to clasp hands and follow at a run. We gallop upstairs in a most unladylike fashion, and once again I am reminded that our life here is as far from the propriety of London as we can get.

Once upstairs, Merrily tugs me into her room to help her dress. She is wearing only a day dress and stockings, so I help her layer on more clothes to keep out the chill. “Mama,” she whispers, “When can we go back?”

I smile down at her, brushing long bright auburn hair from her shoulder. Merrily’s chocolate brown eyes melt into me and I am reminded of that moment in the Cave of Sighs with her father. I feel my heart speed up and my hands brush along Merrily’s cheeks. “Soon, love. Very soon. Miss Bradshaw will be here in a few days and we will return.” Merrily nods, but she does not move. “What is it, darling?” I ask, kneeling before her. “What is bothering you?”

My little girl shakes her head, brushing her cheek against my hand. I know that feeling so well, the feeling that you want desperately to say something but think that the people that love you most will hate you for it. It is the feeling that I had left London to escape, the feeling that I had sworn to myself I would never instill in my child. In Kartik’s child.

“What is it, Merilyn?” I ask, intentionally using her full name. Those chocolate eyes meet mine and I recognize the fear. “Oh, no,” I whisper, that cold apprehension spilling over me. “The visions have come, haven’t they?”

My Merrily is only five years of age but I have always known that her magic is strong, stronger than it had been with me. When she had been conceived I had been holding all of the realms’ magic within me and I have felt that she is carrying more magic than she understands. In the realms she practically hums with it in a manner that none of us have. That magic is at home in her and that frightens me.

“Mama,” she whispers, placing her hands on my cheeks. “They are the most awful things. Saying the most dreadful things.” Tears fill those beautiful eyes. “I do not know how to stop them.”

I pull her into a tight embrace, feeling her warmth press against me. “It’s all right, my sweetness,” I whisper. “We will take care of this.”

Felicity appears at the door, wearing her bright red cape. Since moving to Paris she has adopted the habit of standing out even more than she had before. I find it refreshing that she continues to grow stronger and more independent with the help of the magic and the open way in which she can live in this glowing town. I, however, feel as though I’m losing myself in this town. With as much as I longed to see London when we lived in India, and as much as I hated London for all that it had done to me, I still feel like it is home and without it I feel lost.

She surveys the scene in silence, that same worn smile on her face. She sees me for what I am, and she sees Merrily for what she is as well. My beautiful smoky skinned daughter, too dark to be of breeding and too light to be mistaken as a foreigner. She is a half-breed, my daughter, my life; and I love her more for it, if that is possible. “Is everything all right?” she asks, her delicate eyebrow arching high.

“Yes,” I answer, stroking Merrily’s bright auburn hair. “We shall be down in a moment.” Felicity nods and vanishes from the doorway, leaving us in silence again. When she is gone, I pull away from Merrily just a bit and look down at her. “Love, we will go as soon as we are able, and I will find a way to stop it.”

I wrap her in her chocolate brown cloak and tie it at her neck. She pushes her arms through, showing off her sweetly lavender sleeves and I drop a beret on the crown of her head for her to pull snug. “I think a little fresh air will do you good, love,” I say, offering my hand. Merrily takes it and together we descend the stairs and cross into the parlor where Felicity and Polly are waiting.

I am reminded looking at them that it has been six years since our days at Spence Academy; Polly is nearly fourteen at this point and she should be in an Academy of sorts herself; Felicity and I should be married off to rich men that want nothing more than to sit in gentlemen’s clubs and smoke cigars. Instead we are in the parlor of a French townhome, relying on each other and living off of Felicity’s inheritance.

I smile, more to myself then to the room, but Felicity smiles in return. I know that she shares my thoughts. We rejoice in our freedom every day of our lives, living within the magic of the realms, carrying it with us without worrying about spilling it over to the closed-minded. I watch as Merrily crosses the room to stand with Polly while I tie my own cloak around my shoulders. Once my cloak is firmly tied, we turn as a group and make our way to the front door. François is no where to be seen, but Felicity has never told him where we are headed when we leave. I assume that he does not expect it.

Felicity pulls open the door, revealing the frigid winter of Paris. There on the steps, coming toward the door, is Ann Bradshaw, dressed in a violet cloak and fur lined muffler. “Annie!” Felicity exclaims, throwing her arms wide. Ann laughs and rushes into them, embracing her in return. “Whatever are you doing here? Your play is not slated to run for another week!”

“I know!” Ann exclaims, breaking from Felicity and coming to embrace me. I hold her tightly; our sweet Ann. “One of the other girls has lost her voice, so Charlie gave us until the end of the year for a holiday,” she exclaimed. “Isn’t it marvelous?” I laugh at her jubilation. For six years she has been touring with Charlie Smalls, playing various roles in his assorted plays. She has become a star of the stage under her own name, without any magic. I could not have been more proud of her.

As I pull away from her the two younger girls swoop down on her. “Miss Bradshaw!” Merrily called, throwing herself into Ann’s arms. Ann scoops her up, holding her tightly and chanting her name over and over again. “We were going for a walk, would you come?” Merrily asks, clutching Ann’s arms.

I laugh out loud as the girl steals the words from my lips. Ann looks up, her eyes dancing with light. “I would love to,” she said.

“Well, let us be off!” Felicity said, gesturing toward the still open door. “We are letting the winter in.” With that we file out the door, closing it snugly behind us. The girls run ahead, holding hands and skipping through the snowdrifts. We linger behind, our arms intertwined, talking and watching them. “So, Annie,” Felicity said, pulling her gloves more snug on her hands. “Would you like to spend the holiday with us? I can have François ready a room as soon as we return.”

“I would adore that,” Ann replied, smiling brilliantly. “The boardinghouse gets so lonely this time of year!”

“I have a request,” I whisper, leaning in slightly. Felicity and Ann lean in as well. Up ahead of us Polly and Merrily are giggling as they dart around patrons on the street. “We need to go into the realms tonight. Without delay.”

My two friends nod sharply, and Felicity asks, “Has something happened, Gemma?”

My eyes stray to where Merrily and Polly have paused to wait for us. They stand near the skeleton of a tree, its fingers twisting up and scratching at the sky. “She is having visions,” I mutter, tears sparking in my eyes. I feel them go cold on my cheek before cracking and falling to the ground. “I must stop them before it becomes too much for her. She is so young!” I feel the words catch in my throat and I have to gulp to speak once more. Ann’s hand tightens on my arm and I feel her own magic flow over me, cradling me in that warmth. “I have to speak with the council,” I add. _I need to speak with him_ , I think to myself sadly. They are words that I still cannot speak aloud.

Felicity adds her hand to Ann’s and she says in a whisper only loud enough for us to hear. “We will join hands the moment that we return home. We shall call a council meeting as soon as we arrive.” Her arm falls around my shoulders and pulls me close. “They will have answers,” she says, her voice dark and husky. “I promise you that Merrily will be safe.” I nod as we finally reach the girls. Polly is dutifully holding Merrily’s hand, as she has since Merrily could walk. Polly was nearly eight when the younger girl was born, and she has always accepted her as a sister. It warms my heart to see the two together.

The magic has also taken to Polly, much to Felicity’s joy. The two of them have played in the garden, changing leaves into butterflies for years now as Felicity, Ann and I watch. There are more priestesses now, but so far I am the only one that can call the door of light. The rest of the priestesses travel through the doorway at Spence Academy, with Mrs. Nightwing; Lillian; as the gatekeeper. At any given time we can step through into the garden and find an array of priestesses having a picnic or some of the forest folk or the Untouchables lounging on the banks of the river.

The five of us stand beside the frozen tree for a long moment until Ann says, “I believe that I could use some warm tea and a cozy fire.” Polly giggles and nods in agreement while Merrily slides her hand into Ann’s. She is always so happy to see Ann; she is bewitched by Ann’s fame and her impossible beauty. For Ann is not beautiful in the way that Felicity is beautiful, but she is stunning in the way that she carries herself and when she is on stage the whole world lights up.

I smile as well, happy that we are all together again. “Let us return home, then,” I say arching an eyebrow. “For I have a surprise for all of you.” I bend at the waist, coming to level with the children. “We have a small trip to take, to play in the garden.”

“Oh!” Polly exclaims, clapping her hands. “Wonderful!” I meet Merrily’s gaze and she frowns. She knows the reason for this visit, and it shall not be a happy one. Her hand slips from Ann’s to mine and I squeeze lightly.

She is too old to be held in public, this I know. It is proper for a girl of five to walk of her own volition; but I cannot help myself. I scoop her into my arms and hold her at my height. Her arms fall around my shoulders and secure themselves safely. I ignore the stares that we get from passers-by, as do the others. All that matters is our world, we have lived this way for years. Merrily nuzzles her face into my neck and I feel her breath against my skin as she says, “Thank you, Mama.” I feel Felicity pat Merrily’s back and I feel Ann’s hand on my shoulder. In this moment nothing matters save my family; my real family.

 

We sit in the parlor with the door shut while we join hands. I call upon the door of light and it materializes easily; as though it has been waiting to be called. I reach out and secure my hand on the knob, pulling it open. We step in, hand in hand. Merrily holds fast to me, but Polly breaks away as soon as we step onto the grasses of the realms. The garden spills out before us, lush, verdant and green. It is a stunning display, the same way it was all those years ago. The silver arch still stands, roses tangled in masses at its feet. The scorch marks from the shattered runes are gone and in their place are great stone chairs in a circle, none larger than the others, but each massive. This is where the council meets; equal ground on all sides.

With Merrily’s hand still in my own I cross into the garden and stop at the chairs. The magic that was used to form them was also used to forge a call to the other council members. I place my hand on the arm of my chair and whisper, “I call to you; a meeting must take place.” I know that these words will echo through the realms and be heard by the council members. It will be a matter of time before they converge on the garden. Until then, it is ours.

“Go,” I say to Merrily. “Play.” Felicity and Ann have found our silver blanket waiting for us and have made themselves comfortable. I slide onto the blanket with them as Ann strums her fingers across the strands, creating a soothing tune. I am watching the girls as they run through the fields, scooping up flowers to braid into crowns.

It is here that I fear no judgment. Even with our carefree lifestyle that Felicity’s fortune has allowed us there is still much to fear. With Merrily so obviously not British it is easy for us to become the focus of many discussions. Though none know the story of her conception, the gossip still rains down upon us. I shield her from it the best I can, but no amount of protection will stop her from knowing that she is different. She is already terribly aware that she is whispered about by Polly’s school chums, and it pains me to see her hiding in her room when they come to call.

She is by no means dark skinned in the manner that her father was. His skin was the color of toffee; hers is a lighter shade of caramel, as though it has been mixed with milk. She does not call attention to herself the way that other foreigners do. Most people do not even notice that she is of a different ethnicity in Paris. It is a mingling of flavors in the city, and almost no one thinks different of it. My beloved Merrily looks like a gypsy; that bit of poetry is not lost on me. But she is different, and from that I cannot spare her; as I could not be spared.

 

I am lying on the blanket when Ann’s hand on my arm rouses me. I have dozed off in my waiting for the other council members and now she wakes me. Near the circle stands Asha, sweet Asha, with her dress hiding her misshapen legs and her wide eyes dancing as I never thought they could before the magic was returned. Beside her stands Philon, the creature wears a green cloak of huge leaves and golden trim. Once more I am drawn to his majestic appearance as I was that first day I met him, still fearful in his presence, but oddly comforted by his proximity. Behind the circle of chairs wait a Winterlands creature, dressed in tattered robes of black, his eyes sunk into the deep black circles in his face. He is speaking with Bessie, her steadfast appearance a comfort to me. Beside her, standing silently is a girl, her hair done up in curls and sweeps. She watches me with soft eyes, but does not speak. She is the quietest member of our council, Silvie the forest elf.

I rise to my feet and allow myself a glance in the direction of the fields. I see Merrily and Polly diligently working on their flower crowns and smile. “So we are waiting for Gorgon, then,” I say, brushing my hands on my skirt.

Asha inclines her head and answers, “Yes, Lady Hope.” She gestured behind me. “She comes.”

I turn to see the frightful face of Gorgon as she stalks toward us. Her lips are in a firm line, her control nearly vibrating through me. As always whenever she steps from her ship she has a tight reign on her emotions; lest she loose her power on us.

“Greetings, Most High,” she says in her typical salutation, then nods to the rest of the council. “I am sorry that I am late.”

“No matter,” I answer, sliding in between two seats to take my chair. “We can begin, be seated.” All around me the creatures of the realms sit in their massive chairs. Across the field I see Merrily’s head pop up and she watches for a long moment. Behind me, Felicity and Ann rise to their feet as well and head off in the direction of the girls. I feel the eyes of the council upon me, but I gather my wits and take a steadying breath.

Finally, I speak. “I called to you because my daughter, Merilyn, is but five years of age.” I am surrounded by nods. They remember how I came here to give birth, to be saved the questions at the hospital. “Today she confessed to me that she has been having visions.” A murmur rises around me until I have to raise a hand to quell it. “It is too soon. We must discover the reason for it and stop it. She cannot make sense of visions this early; I could barely do it when I was far older than she.”

“What do the visions contain, Priestess?” Philon asks, the great creature’s eyes wide.

“I do not know, Majesty,” I answer. “I have been unable to ask.”

“Call her to us, Lady Hope,” Asha adds, gesturing to where Merrily is playing. “We should know what we are searching for.” I incline my head; I am frightened to hear what she has to tell us, but knowing that we must hear.

I stand and cross the circle to the edge near the field. “Merrily!” I call, “Come here, darling.” She is already standing as Felicity drops the crown of daisies on her hair. She turns to me and waves. I gesture for her to join us. With a quick glance to Felicity and Ann, who shoo her toward me, she leaps like a gazelle to my side. “We have some questions, my sweet,” I say, offering my hand. She takes it and I can feel her trembling.

I lead her to my chair and pull her into my lap. The council does not object to this action. Normally when we question beings we place them in the middle of the circle so that all may see them. But this time I am afraid to place her there. I do not want it to feel like an interrogation. They all must see that. I face her out with my arms dropped around her waist. She is secure where she sits, but she is free to move as she wishes.

Asha is the first to speak; her voice is soft, as soft as it was on the day that I first met her. “Princess Marigold,” she says, using her pet name for her. “What do you see?”

Merrily glances to me, but all I can do is smile at her. She needs to answer the question for herself. She looks around at the council, each leaning toward them. “In my visions?” she asks in her soft voice. Asha nods once but offers nothing else. “I see men covered in vines. They have flowers on their armor. They smell terrible. They call me poppet.” I tense in my seat, my heart pounding wildly; Merrily feels it and she turns to look at me. I know that I have gone pale and wide-eyed, I know because the faces that stare back me mirror my pallor.

“These flowers, Little One,” Philon says. “What are they? Have you seen their kind before?”

Merrily nods, her hair fluttering into my face. “Yes, they are poppies.”

If I were standing I would faint. My daughter is seeing visions of the horrible Poppy Warriors, those same wretched creatures that tricked us into their castle and attempted to play a violent game with us. We had almost been lost in their catacombs; almost murdered in cold blood. Only my amulet had saved us.

Instinctively my hands tightened on Merrily, pulling her closer. The Winterlands creature, the one we call Jedediah, speaks next. His voice is raspy and flat, but it no longer sounds as menacing as it has in the past. “Tell me, young one,” he says, “Do you see any thing else?”

“Girls,” Merrily answers carefully. “Ghostly girls. They run and scream, crying out for help but I cannot. I am too scared.”

“Can you describe the girls?” Bessie asks in her deeper voice.

Merrily glances back over her shoulder at my face and again all I can give her is an assuring smile. She looks back at the six pairs of eyes staring at her and I feel her fear. She knows now that these visions are more than frightening; they are threatening as well. “There are two of them. They are very pale,” she speaks so softly that everyone in the circle must lean forward to hear her. “They look like him,” she said, pointing to Jedediah. “They have dark eyes and pale faces. I do not think that see me.” She pauses for a long moment and looks back over her shoulder at me as she says, “I wish I did not see them.”

“I know, love,” I say, my voice cracking. I can be silent no longer and I certainly cannot keep the tears at bay. They spill over onto my cheeks and run in rivers to Merrily’s hair. There it stuck fast, shimming like diamonds on strands of rubies. I stroke her hair, rubbing those diamonds out, holding a handful of it in my grip. The white daisies are such a contrast to her auburn hair that they burn my eyes. She is so much like her father; it is like a knife in my chest. I raise my eyes to the council and I see that they are done with their questions. “Go, my love,” I whisper, “Go play with Polly.” I set her down on the ground and watch as she walks slowly across the circle. She passes between the Gorgon and Philon, showing no fear of them despite their appearance. Of that I am grateful.

Once she is out of earshot, Asha speaks. “Lady Hope, this does not bode well. The Poppy Warriors have been dormant since you released the magic. We have heard no whispers of their return.”

All eyes fall on Jedediah. He is from the Winterlands; he knows the terrors that can befall people at the hands of the Warriors. He is also the closest thing we have to an insider. When he speaks, his voice is deep but honest. “We have heard nothing, Priestess,” he said, “But I will make inquiries of the other creatures.” I nod, not feeling at all secure in his statement. These past six years the realms have been quiet and peaceful. But I know that even the slightest tumult can upset the balance and send us spiraling down.

Gorgon is the next to speak, her voice strong and true, a refreshing reminder of days long past. “Most High, we will protect the child with every ounce of our ability. This I promise you,” she said. I smile at her, reminded of how she once told me that she had no maternal instincts. Around her the other council members nod their agreement and my gaze is drawn to the field where my family is playing. Felicity towers over the waving grasses as the girls weave in and out, daisy crowns atop their heads.

“Keep her safe,” I whisper, tears choking my voice.

“As we would keep you safe, Majesty,” Silvie answers in her melodic voice. It sounds of bells and has the strange power to sooth me. I nod. The council was forged under the agreement of level ground, a round table of sorts; but the creatures still see me as the salvation, the final word. For six years I have fought it, this belief that I am of a higher order than they, but today I let it slide. If it will protect Merrily then they may think anything they wish.

“We are done,” I say, finality in my voice. They nod and begin to disband until only Gorgon remains. She sits in her chair as if she too is made of stone. Even when Asha bows to her in respect Gorgon does not move a muscle. She is watching me; she is waiting. Philon vanishes in the direction of the river and Asha to the Caves of Sighs. The elf disappears into the forest, where her secret people live silent and invisible. Jedediah heads off to the Borderlands to where he must live, though I have not been back there since that fateful war. Bessie is gone into whatever direction from which she goes, it is never the same place twice. She wanders now, a nomad of the realms. Now it is but Gorgon and me, staring at each other.

Finally words come. “You know then,” I say, my eyes falling to the river. Gorgon inclines her head but a fraction and I know that she has understood. “Can you take me?” I ask.

“Of course, Most High,” she answers. “I will do your bidding always.” I nod, unable to question the reasons. I gave her freedom, and I am sure that is why she does what I ask. I am too afraid to ask if she is bound by another spell, for fear that I would be unable to retract it. “Shall we go?”

“Yes,” I say, throwing another glance over Gorgon’s shoulder to the field. “I will meet you at the boat.” Gorgon nods, rising to her feet. She heads to the river where the barge lies in wait.

When I reach the girls in the field Ann is sitting on the blanket, playing soft music with her fingertips. Polly and Merrily are dancing in circles while Felicity plucks more flowers from the grasses. “Gorgon is taking me for a voyage,” I say, meeting Felicity’s gaze. They are used to this statement; I say it every time we come. They do not know where I go, but I have convinced them that it is dull and monotonous. I am sure that they assume that it is diplomatic business.

“All right,” Felicity says, and she does not push. Merrily runs over to embrace me, showing none of her fear from the council meeting. For that I am grateful. “We will probably move back to the garden in a bit,” Felicity continues. “But we won’t go far.” She eyes Merrily, knowing that I hate to leave her. I nod and then kiss the top of Merrily’s head before running down the hill to the river.

Gorgon awaits me at the helm of the barge, her vicious hair writhing and hissing about her head. She indeed makes a fearsome sight, her eyes bright and unholy. But she is my friend, always, and has stood by me on all paths that I have taken. “Are you ready, Most High?” she asks as I crest the bridge. I nod. “Then let us go.” She pushes off from the shore and we are borne on the river, heading to the Winterlands; heading to him.


	2. Return

Looking at the Winterlands now I can barely remember what they used to be. What was once barren and black, charred by disease and hate; is now green and lush. It is not what the garden is, with its bright colors and open blooms, but the Winterlands are their own beauty now. They are a twisted dark beauty. The sky here seems lower, but it is still as bright as the sky behind us. Gorgon steers us down the river and that which was so frightening to me once upon a time is a strange comfort to me now. I am at peace here, where it is still and quiet; where only the babbling of the river greets me. It is in this space that the vicious creature of the Winterlands once dwelled, but now, with the magic released, they have come to leave this land in peace.

Finally we reach the small alcove where I shall disembark and, as always, the Gorgon descends with me. She will walk with me for awhile and then she will linger. It is an unspoken agreement that we have had for six years now. She does not ask for more and I do not ask for less, it is expected and accepted. Today we walk in silence, and it is not unlike many other days. Sometimes the air is lighter and my mind less troubled and we will talk or converse about things in our separate worlds. I am no longer a piece of the realms, and the day to day goings-on do not affect me. Gorgon keeps me up to date on the important topics, but most of the time I do not ask and she does not tell.

When we round that final rock I feel my heart catch in my throat. It stands before me, not nearly as tall as it had once been, but stately nonetheless. Gorgon stops in her steps and finds the stone that sits nearby. It is here that she will await me, and it is here that I will return. Alone I make the trek up the hill to the tree. This tree is still referred to as the Tree of All Souls, but it is very different from the tree that once stood on this spot. The previous tree had been corrupted, taking with it one of the highest priestesses of the Order, Eugenia Spence. This tree was forged with a magic that cannot be corrupted. This tree was forged of love.

Standing on this hill Kartik gave his life for mine. He called the tree into him, rescuing me, saving my life. He became the tree and the tree became him. It was here, on this spot, that my love; my sweet Kartik; changed his destiny forever. He had been warned, in dreams, that he would be the death of me; that we would fight side by side and I would fall. He took that warning to heart and changed both of our destinies. For if he had not given his life for mine, then his child; our child would not have been born.

Just as I had all those years ago, I crested the hill to find young Wendy kneeling at the base of the tree. She stood with a flower in her hands, listening to my careful approach. “Lady Hope,” she said, using Asha’s name for me as she turned. I can see her blind eyes darting quickly, they are still the milky blue of the Winterlands but she has not changed otherwise.  “I will leave you in peace.” I nod as she stumbles past me to head down the hill. She has been sitting watch over the tree all these years, protecting it, and I believe that the tree protects her as well.

Once she is out of earshot I fall to my knees and clasp my hands over my heart. It is here that he can hear me; it is here that I must come as I did all those years ago. The day after I came to Felicity’s home she convinced me to come to the realms, to the tree, and confess to the object that was once my lover. It had torn me to shreds inside and I wept great tears, not only for myself but for the unborn child.

When my tears had exhausted themselves, and I was spent, I had collapsed against the tree and I had felt a strong tugging. I was spinning freely in the open air with nothing to hold fast to. Suddenly it went still and I stood before him; he was as real as I was. He was smiling at me. My magic, my hope and sadness had unlocked a door. He was the tree the same way that Eugenia Spence was the tree, but his roots were in good and his soul was happy.

Ever since that day that I came to the tree and laid my hands upon its bark it has drawn me in, holding me up and bringing me to him on wings of angels. Today is no different; as I sit on my knees I press my hands to the tree and find myself standing in a dream world. Clouds float lazily around us and he is there before me. He is dressed all in black, but it is not dreary. He glows with a radiance that I never thought could be. I sigh heavily, overjoyed at the mere sight of his chocolate eyes and caramel skin. He is smiling.

“Hello, my love,” he says, and his voice drifts over me like a salve. I know it is in my head, that his spirit is truly wrapped in the mass of bark that I have placed my hand to; but it does not change the fact that he stands before me. “I have missed you.”

I fall into his arms and he wraps them around me like a blanket, hiding my pain from sight. “Oh,” I say and I begin to shake. The fear that I have felt since Merrily confessed her visions to me has come to a head and I stand before the one person in all the world that I have dreaded telling. Kartik must sense my sorrow for we sink to the ground in each other’s arms. He holds me close as I begin to cry and his hands are sure and strong on my back, helping to quell the sobs.

Finally I can find my words again and they spill out of me like water, “I am so sorry that I could not protect her, Kartik. I have done all that I can but it is not enough. She is seeing terrible visions of the Poppy Warriors, and I cannot help her.” I am shaking like a leaf in his arms and I feel his warmth on my skin. “I am so sorry.”

“Shh,” Kartik soothes. My heart warms; no one could ever love me as Kartik loves me. He loves me despite my faults, perhaps because of my faults. He stood beside me through the visions and held me in my times of need. He came to the realms with me and there he confessed his love. Kartik had always been beside me, near me, within me. And I have betrayed him by allowing his child, our daughter, to fall.

Kartik’s words come softly, as if brought by the wind. “Do not fear, my love. You will save her from the visions,” he said, holding me gently in his arms. I do not know which comforts me more, his arms, his confidence in me, or his words. “I believe that it might be time to return, Gemma,” Kartik adds.

“Return?” I question. But Kartik is fading, our time is up. His spirit is tired and the tree is releasing me from the spell. We have used too much time and the magic that binds us has grown thin. “Return where?” I ask, trying to get answers.

“To where it all began, my love. Return to where it all began.” His sweet smile comes again, dazzling me. With that he fades away leaving me on my knees before the great tree with tears soaking my face. My hand drifts down to the soil to rest upon the grasses there and I mull over his words while I gather myself. Where would Kartik want me to return to? Where had it all begun?

I hear Wendy’s footsteps behind me and I turn to greet her. “Thank you, Wendy,” I say, pushing myself away from the tree trunk and rising to my feet. “I would like to stay but there is a matter that I must see to. Next time, though, all right?”

“Yes, miss,” Wendy answers, curtsying a bit and wobbling. “I’ll keep ‘im safe for you,” she adds. I pat her on the head, comforted by her statement. I know that it is just a tree, but it safeguards the soul of the man I love. No protection will ever be strong enough.

Without another word, I leave her sitting before the tree and as I walk down the hill I hear the wind calling my name as it blows through the leaves of the great tree. I find myself as comforted by this as I always have, and that comfort continues as I meet Gorgon at the base of the hill. She does not mention what has transpired; she does not ask questions of what has happened. We are silent on the return to the barge.

Once we were back under way I stand at the bow of the barge, the wind in my hair. Kartik’s words echoes in my head. _Return to where it all began._ _Return to where it all began._ “Return to where it all began.”

“What was that, Most High?” Gorgon calls and I realize that I have spoken aloud. With a sigh I climb down from the bow and stand beside her. She was my first confidant in the realms, and by becoming that she freed me from many of my secrets.

“He told me that I must return to where it all began,” I answer, standing beside her at the helm. “But I had my first vision in India, surely he can not expect me to go there.”

Gorgon is pensive for a very long time, steering back down the river. The silence weighs heavily on me, pushing me into the deck of the barge. As we cross out of the Winterlands I am greeted by the beautiful singing of the water nymphs, their shimmering skin translucent in the water. Their song pulls at me, drawing me to the edge of the barge. It gives me wings and I wish to join them. I feel their magic washing over me. Gorgon calls out, her voice dark and menacing as only she can make it. “Be gone or I shall loose the nets!” The nymphs swim out of range so that I may not hear their singing, but still they follow us. It is not the first time that I have seen them since returning the magic, but it is the first time that they have seemed a threat.

I watch them from the aft of the barge, their skin reflecting the sky. They follow up to the edge of the Winterlands and stop, an invisible gate barring their way. As we float away, leaving them in the dust, Gorgon’s voice comes to me on the breeze. “Where did you first enter the realms, Most High?”

“The caves at Spence,” I answer absently, watching the nymphs grow smaller and smaller.

The silence returns, but only briefly. Gorgon speaks again, this time softer. “Where did you learn of your heritage?” she asks.

“Spence,” I answer, still not understanding.

“And where did you meet Circe?”

The name still causes my breath to catch in my throat; my teacher that had become my friend had been, in reality, my worst enemy.

“You think that Spence is the place that I need to return to,” I answer, finding her point amidst the questions. Gorgon does not speak but even as I say the words I see the truth in them. Spence Academy is where it began, and I must bring my new life to meet my past. As I sigh the garden comes into view. The stone chairs are still empty, but Polly and Merrily are running about them, darting in and out. Felicity and Ann are sitting in the center of the garden and I can hear Ann’s sweet singing voice drifting toward me.

When she glimpses me, Merrily breaks into a run with Polly at her heels. Moments later Ann and Felicity are on their feet following. “Mama!” Merrily called as Gorgon and I stepped from the barge. “Mama, you will never believe what happened!” She slides to a stop before me, grasping my skirts.

Felicity is at her heels, “It was nothing, Gemma!” She is out of breath and flushed from hurrying to meet me. “She was perfectly safe; Ann and I were beside her the whole time.” I hear the alarm in her voice and the hair on the back of my neck stands on end.

“What happened?” I demand, my hand on Merrily’s shoulder.

My gaze falls to her and I see that she is not at all frightened but the fear in Felicity’s eyes is hard to ignore. Merrily replies, her voice light and soft. “Oh, Mama! She was beautiful! She came from the forest, over there,” Merrily gestures to the path that leads to the Borderlands. “She said to give you a message. She said, _The Way is here, she comes swift on the wings of Winter_.” She smiles up at me, pleased with herself that she gave me the message.

“Wonderful, love,” I whisper, patting her shoulder. “Go play,” I say, unthinking. She and Polly scurry off and I call after them, “But stay close!” They do not reply but Polly noticeably slows, pulling Merrily with her. They do not go past the stone chairs. I turn to Felicity and Ann, my breath coming heavily as I ask, “What was it? Who was it?”

Ann has tears in her eyes and her hands find mine; she grips them tightly as she whispers, “It was Mae Sutter, Gemma. She was far worse then she had been, but strangely-” She breaks off, choking on the words.

“She was beautiful,” Felicity breathes, her eyes drifting off to the land beyond the river. “She was too beautiful. Like Pip.” My heart breaks a little as Felicity breathes the name of her best friend and lover. She says it with such reverence that I feel as though she is speaking of a saint. Tears sparkle in the corners of her eyes but they do not fall. “I tried to speak to her but it was as if she did not see us. She looked only at Merrily.”

I glance around the garden and find nothing amiss, behind me stands Gorgon silent and tall. “Gorgon,” I say, turning to face her.

“I will find out, Most High,” she answers, knowing what I will ask. I nod and look back to the garden. Polly is holding Merrily’s hand and as I look they wave.

I raise my hand and wave them over to us. “It is time to return,” I say as they join us. Ann nods but Felicity is silent; the two young girls protest. I ignore them all. “Gorgon, if you find out any information do not hesitate to send for me. Do not wait for my return.” Gorgon bows her head and I turn, leading my family back to the door of light.

 

Back in the parlor I dismiss the girls, sending them to practice their music. Polly vanishes upstairs to the piano while Merrily runs to her room for her flute. This leaves Felicity, Ann and I alone with cold tea and cookies. Ann plops down on the settee while Felicity curls up on the sofa. I find myself in a seat next to the fire, staring into the flames. None of us speak as we listen to Polly’s piano playing cascading down the stairs. In a few moments it is accompanied by the sweet melody of Merrily’s flute.

Felicity finally speaks, turning toward me. “Where do you go, Gemma?” she asks, her eyes dark. I am haunted by that question, I fear it. I do not know how to explain it to her; I fear that she will not understand my need to see him even through magic. When I do not answer she speaks again. “You go to the Tree, don’t you?” she asks in a hushed voice. I glance to her and find her gaze fixed on the carpet; she is pale in the flickering firelight. Outside the window the world is a swirl of white as snow blows in flurries around the street. Ann is framed in the plate glass, silent and stoic as she watches us. Her face is drawn tight, her eyes shadowed by the light from the hearth.

“Fee, listen,” I say rising to my feet. I cross the room in two strides and slide onto the sofa beside her. “Fee, I wanted to tell you but I was not sure how,” I continue.

She holds a hand up to stop me and when she turns I see true sadness in her eyes. “I once said that you could tell me anything, Gemma. I meant that, I really did. But I thought that you would actually,” her voice broke. “Include me.”

Tears well up in my eyes and I slide to the floor at her feet. She places her feet on the floor and I find my arms crossing over her knees, I am looking up at her. “I see him when I go there, Fee,” I whisper, tears spilling over. “I see him when I place my hands to the tree. He is there, holding me. He knows of Merrily, I tell him everything.” Felicity drops a hand onto my hair and brushes a rogue curl from my eyes. “I did not know how to tell you, I am sorry.”

“Oh, Gemma,” Felicity sighs, cupping my cheek. “I know that you still love him; you always will. He is your soulmate. But I am your best friend; I just wish to be included in your life. I will bear your burdens if you share them with me, I will hold your pain as though it is my own.” I nod and place my cheek upon her lap. She strokes my hair, humming softly. I find that I cannot speak at all for the rock in pit of my stomach. “All right, Gem, what did Kartik say?”

A gasp bubbles from my throat as she says his name. I have refrained from saying it for so long that hearing it on the lips of someone else is like a stab to the heart. Ann is still sitting in the background of our conversation, all ears and no voice. I shiver at Felicity’s feet and I curl up into myself, hugging my knees to my chest. “He told me that it is time to return to where it all began,” I answer, resting my head on my knees.

“What did he mean?” Felicity asks.

“Spence,” Ann pipes up, startling us. I turn to stare at her, astonished that she would find the answer so quickly. “It is obvious, is it not?” She asks, “It is where everything started for me. For us.” I laugh. Of course Ann would see it immediately; I had been too wrapped up in my own sorrows and fears to recognize the beginning of it all, but Ann’s true life had started there.

I nod but glance back at Felicity. “So, we are returning to Spence, then,” she says, her eyes on Ann. I nod again and Felicity turns to look back at the fire burning happily. I feel a pang of remorse for asking her to return to London, the scene to so many horrors in her life. I still do not believe that Ann is privy to Felicity’s horrors, though she does know the truth of her lifestyle. I imagine that she associates Felicity’s melancholy with Pippa and their life at Spence. “I suppose that means I should have to wear a corset again,” Felicity inserts after a pregnant pause.

I start to laugh, unable to stop myself. Felicity has not worn a corset in the last six years, I am nearly certain that she burned it as soon as she boarded the train to Paris. “I suppose you may need to purchase one!” I joke and Felicity joins in my laughter, followed by Ann. This continues for several long moments until finally we collapse with our laughter on our lips. I take a deep, steadying breath and say, “I shall write to Tom by way of an explanation. After all, I will be appearing in town with a child.”

“Oh,” Felicity replies, realizing that I have kept Merrily a secret from my family for fear of judgment. “What will you tell him?”

“She could be a ward,” Ann offers, coming to sit beside Felicity. I realize that I am still on the floor but I do not move to stand up. “Perhaps a playmate for Polly.”

“Who calls me _Mama_?” I ask. Ann opens her mouth to reply and then closes it again. I know what she is thinking. “I cannot ask her to refer to me as anything else, Annie. She is my daughter and I cannot hide that.” Ann nods and looks away. “Oh, Annie,” I continue, “I know that the scandal must hurt you so.”

“It’s not that, Gemma,” Ann says, reaching out to touch my shoulder. “I just don’t want to see you hurt.”

“I won’t be, I promise. I am strong enough to handle Tom.” Ann nods, a sweet smile in place. I look to Felicity and say, “I will ask Tom if we can stay with him for a bit while we travel to Spence.”

“All of us?” Felicity asks, her eyes hollow. I know what it means for her to ask this question. “I can not ask your brother to take me in as well. But if you will ask on the behalf of Polly, I would appreciate it. I cannot bring her back to my father’s house.”

My heart skips a beat as I think of what must be passing through her mind, and I visibly cringe. “No,” I blurt out. “Neither you or Polly will stay a single night in the Admiral’s house. If Tom will not take all of us then we will find a boardinghouse.” I feel Felicity’s hand on my shoulder again and I look up to see tears in her eyes. I will not abandon my friend to the house of horrors that she spent her life trying to escape. “We stay together, Fee.” I reach for Ann’s hand. “All of us.”

We fall again into silence and I cannot help but think about how the chapters of our lives are punctuated by such silences; comfortable or uncomfortable, we share ourselves in these lapses. “Oh!” Ann exclaims, her hand fluttering to her mouth. Felicity and I spin to stare at her. “I will send a letter to Charlie! He is still in town, I am sure! He has a townhouse in London that we use during rehearsals! Perhaps we can stay there!” My heart leaps; it will be a saving grace if Charlie Smalls allows us access to his townhome. “I shall write him tomorrow. Do you suppose that one of the servants would deliver it, Fee?”

“I’ll have François send a boy first thing in the morning.”

“I shall have my letter ready for post in the morning as well,” I say.

I finally push myself up from the floor and climb back into my seat near the fire. “What will you tell Tom?” Felicity asks, leaning back against the sofa. Ann remains beside Felicity and out of the corner of my eye I see her stretching against her corset.

In my seat I stretch as well, straining against my own corset. “I’m not sure,” I answer. “I will make something up.”

“You could tell him the truth, Gemma,” Ann replies. “He accepted the magic, why would he not accept Merrily?” I shrug. I have thought of this a hundred times before; would my family accept Merrily with open arms? She is very obviously not British, and also very obviously my daughter. She resembles me far too much for it to be a coincidence and I will not use the magic to disguise her as anything else. Tom was so willing to accept the magic after our run in with the Rakshana, and so willing to accept Kartik after I explained that a small piece of me believes that he may accept her as she is.

I rise to my feet, shaking my skirts free of wrinkles. I dread returning to London for different reasons than Felicity, but dreading it nonetheless. Upstairs the music continues and I feel drawn to the room. “Excuse me,” I say, moving toward the door. “I think I should attempt to compose that letter.” Felicity nods as she reaches for the maid’s bell. As I make my way up the stairs I hear her asking for more tea. My room is to the left as I climb the stairs but I pass it on my way to the music room.

Merrily stands in the center of the room with her music stand, her flute in her hands. She is only five years old; I must constantly remind myself of this. At five years of age I was running over the rocks of a spring in India and now my daughter is playing the flute in a music room in Paris. It is almost laughable. I stop in the doorway and watch the two of them. They move in unison, Polly and Merrily, playing their tune. I watch for a long moment before ducking out of the room. I cannot betray Merrily by fabricating any stories about her. _Propriety be damned_ , I think. I shall tell Tom the truth and have him do as he wishes. I have lived in a free world for too long to poison it with untruths and control. I have made my own choices these past six years and I shall allow my brother the freedom to make his own.

I return to my room that overlooks the alley that runs alongside the house. In London it would have been a dismal view, choked with smog and chimney soot. In Paris it is a charming sight, filled with turrets and clouds. Below the window the cobblestone alley is empty but still strangely alive, pulsing with a promise of romance. All of Paris seems this way, it is so near to the cold dark of London and yet it is a world away.

My writing desk is against the wall beside the window and it overlooks the same view that I am admiring. I sit down in the chair and pull out my stationary. I am not sure quite what to say and I begin several drafts before even finding a suitable opening paragraph. From there I construct a simple letter, outlining the facts but leaving out all personal information. I would rather tell Tom specifics face to face. I simply write that I am coming to London to stay for a few days while I arrange to travel on to Spence Academy. I add in the letter that Felicity and Ann will be joining me, along with two young girls. I do not add specifics as to why we are returning to Spence, but I do write that things are amiss and I am seeking Lillian Nightwing’s assistance. I suspect that he will understand that enough to know that it means we are traveling for the sake of the magic.

With my letter composed I lean back against the back of the chair and strain against my corset again. I will deliver it to François as soon as I return to the lower level of the townhouse, but until then I will begin to pack my clothes. I suspect that we will be leaving within a few days, for Felicity does not show patience often; especially when it comes to travel.

 

Two days have passed since we entered the realms and we have been busy preparing for our journey. Ann’s trunks arrived the day we entered the realms and she had not unpacked them in preparation for our departure. Felicity has agreed to wait a day or so to let my letter to Tom reach London before we do. I am sitting in the corner of the parlor, playing chess with Felicity when Ann comes running in. She is clutching a letter in her hand and beaming like a child. “Charlie has given us permission to use the townhouse! He has even sent a crew in to set it up for us!” she exclaims. I laugh, excited by her joy. “Oh, this is marvelous!” Ann is glowing, holding the letter from Charlie to her chest and sighing. I am struck by a strange revelation that causes a question to bubble from my lips before I can stop it.

“Are you in love with Charlie Smalls?” Ann stops completely, going immobile. “I’m sorry,” I say, hurriedly. “It’s not my business. I should not have asked.” I turn away from her, but from the corner of my eye I see her sink onto the sofa, the letter still clutched in her hand. Felicity, however, is watching with interest. After a long moment I speak again, hoping to sever the uncomfortable silence. “When should we leave for London then?” I ask.

Still Ann does not speak, staring down at the letter. But Felicity’s voice answers my question almost before I am done asking it. “I suggest tomorrow. I’ll have François arrange for the tickets this afternoon,” she says, folding her cards and placing them on the table. “We should make sure that the girls’ trunks are packed.”

I stand and cross the room, lingering beside Ann. I try to think of something to say that will erase the sudden infringement of my words on her private life. As I fight for the words I feel Ann’s hand slip into mine and squeeze lightly. I know that I am forgiven, but it does not release the weight on my heart. We have all been very closed with our private lives, Ann has never asked questions of Felicity or asked me about Kartik; in turn we have never asked her of her personal life. We all best friends and we know each other’s darkest secrets but in true British fashion we do not speak of them. We do not ask the personal questions for fear of the personal answers. Even when I revealed that I was carrying Merrily they did not ask questions. It is how we were raised.

When she drops my hand I continue on my way to the door to find Merrily and Polly. As I climb the stairs I hear their voices drifting from Merrily’s room. I find them seated on the floor, surrounded by their dolls. They are playacting priestesses; it is a game that they created after Felicity told them the story of how I defeated Circe. Naturally she left out most of the disturbing details, painting me to be a saint shrouded in white magic while Circe was a demon wrought with anger and hatred. I know that it was not that way, the lines are blurred between good and evil in that story; but I know that the girls see it as a fairy tale and for that I am grateful.

“All right, girls,” I announce, stepping in. “We shall set off tomorrow for London!” Merrily face lights up and she jumps to her feet. Polly, however, remains very still. She has not said much since we told her of our decision to return to England and at night I hear Felicity in her room whispering to her. I know that she is worried about returning to England and I feel that she regards those months in the Admiral’s house as a nightmare long since dead. I am not sure she remembers much after these six years, but I am sure she remembers to be frightened of the prospect. “Do not worry, Polly,” I whisper. “You will be perfectly safe, this I promise. Even if I must call on the creatures of the realms to protect you.” I see her eyes brighten slightly and she stands as well.

“Thank you, Auntie Gemma,” she replies, throwing her arms around me.

I kiss the top of her head, holding her close to me. “Be sure to clean up your dolls and pack all that you will need for the journey.” She nods and gathers up her dolls before running from the room.

Alone with Merrily, I cross the room to sit on the bed. I open my arms and call her to me. She crawls into my lap, allowing me to wrap my arms around her. “I need to speak with you, Merrily,” I whisper. “I need to tell you of London.” I feel her head rest on my shoulder and I begin to speak. “I know that I have not told you much about your Uncle Tom, but we are going to pay him a visit when we are in London and I think you should know about him, love. Uncle Tom is very proper, he lives for reputation and he does not like to know anything about darkness.” Merrily nods against me. “You mustn’t tell him of your visions, Merrily. He cannot handle such things.”

“Yes, Mama,” Merrily whispers. I am silent for a moment as I think of how to explain Tom’s propriety and his flair for the dramatic to my five year old. “Mama,” Merrily continues, “Should I call you Auntie Gemma, as Polly does?” My heart is stilled by this offer. Already my child understands the world in such a manner that she knows that her existence is unconventional and it stabs me like a knife. I do not want this for her; I do not want her to believe that she is to be hidden from sight like a mistake. She was born of my first and truest love; that I cannot hide, and I have no intention.

It suddenly explodes within me as though it has always been there. I will not betray Kartik by telling mistruths about his flesh and blood, I will not create a world where my daughter must lie to fit in. “No,” I say, anger dripping in my voice. I feel Merrily still in my arms and I change my tone. “Not at all, Merrily. You will call me Mama, and if Uncle Tom does not like it then he will not need to see us. Either of us.” Merrily nods against me and I pull her tighter. “Now, tidy up your room and be sure that you have whatever you wish to take with you. Bridgette will be up to inspect your trunks in a short while.” I stand and set her on the floor. As she begins gathering up her dolls I make my way to the door. I will have to decide exactly what to tell Tom, but I know that it will be as close to the truth as I can make it without being too harsh.

I make my way down the hall to my own room and check through my trunks. Returning to Spence has not been on my mind but now I am face to face with the responsibilities. On my bed lays Wilhemina Wyatt’s book along with the diary of Mary Dowd, my mother. Lillian had taken it when Pippa had turned in Miss Moore, but I found it in my trunk after leaving Spence. I knew that she had instructed Bridgid to place it in my trunks and for that I was grateful. I had already read it from beginning to end, but it helps to have it with me.

A wave of dizziness sweeps over me and I sink to the floor in a heap. I know this feeling but it has been a very long time since it came to me. I hit my knees and I see them, standing at the far side of the room near the window. They are translucent and glowing bright white. Their eyes are darkened circles, sunk deep into their hollow faces. Their blue lips form the words though I hear them as though they are blown in by a strong wind. _“She has risen. She comes from the Cross. She brings with her an army of darkness. You must stop her before she takes up the sword.”_ My heart is pounding in my head, pulsing through me as though I am a living heartbeat. They move toward me, their boots stomping on the wooden floor. Their hands stretch out toward me with their fingers curled like claws.

“No,” I shake my head. “Leave me be.”

“MAMA!” Merrily screams, shattering the vision in a way that has never happened before. The girls vanish in a mist as I bolt to my feet and make a mad dash for the door. I am down the hall and to her door within moments; I can hear Felicity and Ann thundering up the stairs as well. I explode through the door and find Merrily sobbing on the floor, her head in her hands. I scoop her up and hold her tight. “Mama,” she sobs. “It was terrible. They touched me and they were so cold… So cold, Mama.” Felicity and Ann stood in the doorway with Polly behind them. I met their gaze and shivered.

I cradle her in my arms, rocking her back and forth. “Fee?” I ask. “Has François gotten the train tickets, yet?”

“I just sent him,” she answered. I nod in response, holding Merrily tightly. “We will be on our way soon, Gemma. I promise you.” I nod again, unable to speak. I feel Felicity come and slide onto the floor beside me. No matter how soon we get there, it will not be soon enough.


	3. Family Bound

The train rattles along, pulling us toward Le Havre where we will board a ship to cross the English Channel so that we may board another train to take us to London. The five of us sit silently in the room with Polly and Merrily nearest the windows. Ann is reading through her script for Charlie Small’s latest play while Felicity reads a new novel that she purchased in Paris. I, however, am sitting perfectly still and willing myself to ignore the steady nausea that is welling up in my stomach at the thought of seeing London again. I can only imagine the horrible questions that Tom shall ask of me, as well as Grandmama.

Merrily pulls her feet up to curl them under her skirts and absently Felicity reaches over and pulls them down. All those years of being forced into the straight laced society of London are flowing over her. She wears a corseted deep purple travelling garb, with her long blonde hair pulled back into fashionable curls and coils. I marvel at her elegance even in the face of returning to London; even though she may be unraveling underneath she still shows easy grace in her external appearance.

The station at Le Havre comes into sight in the distance and we start the arch toward it. “Gather your things, girls,” I say as the train slows to a stop. It lurches twice and then we come to a final halt; I feel Merrily’s hand slip into mine and I hold fast to it. She is my anchor in this mad world, the one thing that I live for. Without her I would be in America, dreaming of home and of Kartik. She leads me and I follow, it is the way that I must live.

We file off the station and Felicity hails an attendant to secure a coach for us. As we step to the curb of the train station with our trunks we find that the attendant has secured us a coach. The coachman hops down from the seat and takes our trunks. Felicity gives him our destination and we climb into the coach. The docks are not far from the station and I imagine that many people make this same journey to reach London from Paris and it is not unusual to come across many a family traveling from the train to the ferry. I also imagine that we are not a usual family, but so far I have not noticed a prying stare or a waggling tongue. Silently I pray that this is how it remains, not only for the sake of my friends but also for Merrily.

The streets of La Havre are not overly crowded as our carriage makes a path through them. This part of town is lined with well kept homes and shops and the people that walk the sidewalks are just as well kept as the buildings. I lean forward to peer out the windows and I catch a glimpse of someone walking past, she looks so familiar that I find myself gasping in wonderment. “Fee!” I exclaim, whipping my head to face her. “I swear I just saw Miss McCleethy!”

“Gemma,” Felicity warns, her eyes darkening. “You know that it is impossible.” Those eyes cut to the girls, who are watching out the other side of the coach. Felicity turns back to me and whispers, “Gemma, be careful. Miss McCleethy is gone, and you’ll not mention it again.” I know what has her on edge, I too remember all too well who killed Sahirah McCleethy and I know why it hurts Felicity to think of that moment. In any case we are well past the place where I sighted her and I allow myself to believe that it was merely my imagination.

The carriage pulls to a stop and Merrily bounces in her seat. “Mama, we’re here! Look at the ship!” she exclaims, pointing happily from the window. I smile softly and reach out to take her hand as the coachman opens the door. Ann steps out first onto the cobblestone, followed by Polly, Felicity, Merrily and finally myself. The transport before us is hardly a ship, but to Merrily it is magic of the most wonderful kind. She has never been away from Paris before and some of her favorite stories are those that begin in London. She loves the tales that Felicity tells of the woman in purple and how she eluded me for so long; the tales of Ann’s unconventional rise to acting and how she shed her governess life for this new and more adventurous one. I know that she longs to see the streets of London, the Thames, and most of all the halls and towers of Spence Academy.

We board the ferry with our trunks carried by a kind attendant. He is neither French or British, but perhaps a Spaniard or even a half-breed. He eyes Merrily closely but does not say anything to any of us. His gaze falls on Felicity and the way that she commands attention from those around her. Already she has control over Merrily and Polly, herding them to the edge where they can see the shoreline of England. I am still watching the boy before me, for he cannot be any more than sixteen or seventeen. He is watching Merrily silently as he loads the trunks onto a hand cart.

I turn away from him, ignoring the anger boiling up; it is frightening how quickly I want to leap to protect her and I have to quell my anger. When I turn back he nods vacantly and turns away with a mumbled farewell. I go to my family leaning there on the railing and I look out to the shore across the channel. As the ferry pulls away I find myself looking back over my shoulder to Le Havre and I can not stop myself from wondering why the woman I saw looked so much like Miss McCleethy. Then Merrily’s jubilant shouts call me back to the railing and the island before us.

 

Victoria Station is teeming with people as we step from the train, Merrily holds fast to my hand as we weave our way through the crowds. At the street I search for an attendant to secure us a coach but Felicity is already ahead of me. “Gemma,” she says, taking my arm. “I’ve arranged for transportation.” I follow her to the edge of the curb and find myself standing before a rather regal carriage.

The door opens and out steps a man that I find myself overwhelmingly happy to see. “Mr. Fowlson!” I exclaim, my smile widening. Hugo Fowlson stands tall and dark in the street, but he has a twinkle in his eye that I find I have missed. He has access to the magic now, but he elected to remain out of the council. He has not entered the realms since we joined hands and willed the magic through us after forming the council. I believe that it is his own personal penitence for what happened to Miss McCleethy, and I can not begrudge him that. “Oh, you look wonderful!” I announce as a steward brings our trunks. His coachman stows the luggage on the coach as Fowlson helps each of us into the carriage. When he reaches Merrily, I lift her up and place her in the cab where Ann takes her hand and leads her to her seat. I see Fowlson’s eyes widen at my features on her with the smoky skin. “Mr. Fowlson, I’d like for you to meet my daughter, Merilyn.” I see his eyes cut from Merrily back to me and I offer him the biggest smile I can muster. He does not press and for that I am grateful.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Merilyn,” Fowlson says, bowing his head.

“Thank you,” she chimes, smiling brightly. “You may call me Merrily.” Felicity and I begin to laugh as Fowlson stares in astonishment.

He turns to smile at me as he says, “Too much like her mother for her own good.” I laugh as he helps me into the carriage. He is right, Merrily is more like me then I had ever expected. He climbs in behind me and settles in to my left. “Well, Miss Doyle,” he pauses as his eyes cut to Merrily. “Ms. Doyle,” he alters his address. “What brings you to merry ole’ London this holiday season?”

“We’re going to Spence,” I answer, gesturing to Merrily and Polly. “I need to meet with Mrs. Nightwing and I thought it might be better to do in person.” Fowlson nods, thinking that he understands but in reality I am unwilling to tell him of Merrily’s visions. I trust Fowlson but I do not want to divulge Merrily’s secrets; she is already enough of an outcast as it is.

The streets of London are shrouded in fog, their cobblestones wet and slick from the snow. I find myself peering through the curtains as we drive on to the townhouse that Ann has arranged for us. The streets are lined with Edison’s electric lights; gaslamps are a thing of the past. Merrily leans forward, eagerly taking in the sights and sounds of London and I am reminded of my first carriage ride through London with Tom. I sigh as I think of my brother, waiting somewhere in this city for me to appear on his stoop and yet so unprepared for the stories I have to tell him. Felicity looks to me as I sigh and I shake my head. Years have gone into our silent conversations and I find that in this one I am alone. She knows nothing of what I think of and I see that it perplexes her. I offer her a smile to smooth the lines on her forehead and she returns to answering Polly’s whispered questions of London.

The townhouse is modest but well kept with a lovely side garden and ivy that crawls over the door. It is almost picturesque the way that the fog hangs at the base of the windows and pools around the steps. As we pull to a stop the door opens and a woman steps out. She wears the black garb of a servant and her hair is pulled into a severe bun at the base of her head. The coachman opens the door and offers a hand. Ann is the first to emerge, followed by Felicity, the children and finally myself. Fowlson remains in his seat and as I turn he bows his head. “It was a pleasure to escort you, Ms. Doyle,” he says. “Perhaps we will meet again while you are in town.”

“Of course, Mr. Fowlson,” I reply, curtsying. “Thank you for such a fine escort.”

“You have a lovely daughter, Ms. Doyle. I am sure that her father would be proud.” I catch that glimmer in his eye and I know that he knows. It fills me with a sense of happiness, not at all what I expected. But I suppose that comes from knowing that his love and my love both met similar ends in the fight for the magic. For that brief moment in time I wonder if he wishes that he had a piece of Miss McCleethy as I have a piece of Kartik. Then the door is closed and the coachman is removing our trunks.

We set upon the house as though we have traveled for weeks instead of two days. Ann introduces us to Mrs. Harris, the stoic housekeeper. The woman barely glances to us, bobbling up and down in a manner of curtsy that seems more like she is fixing her shoe. Merrily watches transfixed as Mrs. Harris calls to a boy to fetch the bags. “Mama,” she whispers in French, “ _Pourquoi ils ne donnent pas d'ordres ici dans le français ?_ ”

“We do not give orders in French here because we do not speak French here, little one,” Mrs. Harris responds, and I am surprised by her soft tone. Merrily stares at her with wide chocolate eyes and then looks to me for explanation. “This is Ezekiel,” Mrs. Harris continues, looking to us. “He is my eldest son and he does odd jobs. If you need a strong back or able hands you may call on him. But he does not run to the kitchen or take laundry. Those are my jobs and I take them very seriously. If you have any questions you may direct them to me, and if there are any preferences to the evening meal you may write them down and leave them on the sidebar before three o’clock. I will make all the arrangements that I can. If you do not have a preference for supper then it will be served at seven o’clock. Any evenings that you will not be dining here I would like to be told by at least five. Do you have any questions?”

Like my friends I am wide-eyed, all but Ann, who has undoubtedly heard this all before. Felicity does not even open her mouth to speak she is so astonished by the woman’s obvious fortitude. “No ma’am,” I answer, feeling like a student in a classroom. I almost curtsy to her. With that we follow Ezekiel up the stairs to the bedrooms.

There are only four bedrooms so Polly and Merrily will share the smallest one. Ann is placed in her regular bedroom while Felicity and I take the two across the hall. The townhouse is small but well looked after, and the rooms are sparsely furnished but warm. Felicity glances around her room and from where I stand in the doorway I see her sigh. It is by no means that fine house that she is used to here in London, but it means freedom and for that I know she will bite her tongue and be mindful of Mrs. Harris.

“Miss Doyle?” Ezekiel spoke softly from the edge of the stairs. I turn toward where he stands at the top of the stairs, an unopened letter in his hand. “This came for you this morning, miss.”

“Thank you, Ezekiel,” I say, taking the letter in his hand. He bows quickly and turns to descend the staircase. Felicity comes to stand beside me, watching as the boy vanishes down the stairs. “It’s from Tom,” I say, looking at the handwriting. “How did he know we were here?”

“I had Fowlson write him,” Felicity replies, stepping back into her room. “I thought that he might want to know where we are staying and you only wrote him before we knew.” I stare at her, astonished that she thought of such a thing. “I’m sorry. Did I do something wrong?” she asks, surprise showing on her face.

“Not at all,” I answer, unfolding the letter. “Thank you, Fee.” Felicity nods and returns to exploring her room as I lean against the wall and read my letter.

 

_Gemma,_

_It was a pleasure to receive your letter, as well as learning that you will be staying in the city for a few weeks before travelling on to Spence. Of course I would love to visit with you upon your arrival. Helen has extended an invitation to you and your party for dinner this evening. She so looks forward to meeting you, as you were unable to attend the wedding. I am grateful that you thought to visit my family while you are in London and encourage you to a quick reply so that we may prepare the house for your arrival._

_Your brother,_

_Tom_

I laugh to myself and a find myself greeted with surprised stares from Felicity and Ann. The latter is standing in her doorway, brought by our conversation. “He’s the same Tom,” I say, holding up the letter. “He has invited us to dinner this evening, all of us.” I glance in the direction of Merrily and Polly’s bedroom. “I’m not sure if I can do this,” I mutter.

“Nonsense,” Felicity answers my statement as though it is a question. “We’ve travelled all this way for you to do precisely this, and I’m not about to pass up a chance to see it firsthand. Now, we must send a reply quickly.” I stare at her as she suddenly becomes the pinnacle of social etiquette. “I shall send a note off immediately; do you think Ezekiel will take it? I don’t see why not. Why don’t you get Merrily ready, I’m sure her dresses will need to be unpacked and inspected.” With that, she steps past me and descends the stairs in search of Ezekiel or Mrs. Harris.

I turn to Ann and arch an eyebrow. My dear friend gazes at me with matched surprise. “Perhaps we should help the girls to get unpacked,” she offers, taking a step toward the bedroom. I nod and follow her, all the while thinking of the words that I shall say to Tom when he asks me of Merrily.

As we remove Merrily and Polly’s clothes from their trunks to hang in the wardrobe I practice different conversations in my mind. Do I open with the information, or allow him to get to know her before dropping it into the conversation? Do I tell him alone, or with my friends? The previous would be more tasteful, but the latter would be more comforting. Do I ask Helen to be in the room; for this will be the first time I meet her. They married only a few months after Merrily was born and I was unable to be away from her at that point. Naturally, I wanted to restrict their knowledge of her for long enough to raise her to face such diversity. At least that is what I told myself for six years. In reality I did it to protect us, both of us. Now that life was being thrown to the wolves and I was intentionally stepping in their den.

“What do you think?” Ann asks, holding up a green dress trimmed in lace. “Perhaps with the pinafore with the green ivy trim.”

“Yes,” I agree, digging through Merrily’s trunk for the pinafore. Ann hangs the dress on the wardrobe door and turns to find a fresh pair of stockings. “Polly, which dress would you like to wear to dinner?”

“Must I wear a corset, Auntie Gemma?” Polly asks, holding it up disdainfully. We have allowed her the freedom to only wear the corset to school during the day and to be free of it at night. Many girls her age were not even wearing them, perhaps waiting until they were sixteen or perhaps until they blossomed.

I take the corset from her and hold it upright. “Yes, dear heart, you do. It is what is proper here and we must always do what is proper.”

“Yes,” Polly whispers, her eyes downcast. “But in the realms, it is different.”

“It is always different in the realms,” Ann responds, emerging with Merrily’s stockings. “But that does not mean that we can turn our backs on this world. Wishing for something to be does not make it so. Making something to be is the only answer. If you do not want to wear this corset then you must make it a truth, not just wish it.”

Polly stands a bit taller as she looks at Ann. She seems to glow brighter than the rest of us as she says, “Perhaps I will make it so, Auntie Ann.” I smile as I see an image of our Polly standing up as the next Susan B. Anthony.

“I think that you might, dear,” I say, smiling. “But until then, you’ll wear your corset with the same silent discomfort as your elders.” Polly grumbles softly but takes it from my hands and places it on the bed. “Now, which dress would you like to wear?”

“May I wear the pink one?” she asks, coming to the truck. “I do love the ruffles.”

I pick it up and shake it once, and then offer it to her. She smiles and carries it to the bed as Ann sets out the hair pins on the vanity to prepare for their dressing.

 

Because we do not have a coach, Felicity arranges for Ezekiel to go about securing one and by the time we step from the front door we have a driver and a coach. He stands just outside the coach, his hands deep in his pockets and his chin against his chest to keep warm. I turn to check that Merrily’s cloak is secured around her shoulders before I take her hand and lead her down the steps to the coachman. He opens the door and one by one we climb inside. Once nestled, I pull Merrily closer to me to guard her from the cold.

Her brown hair is pulled back in green ribbons that curl down her ringlets. Absently I twirl those ringlets around my fingers and watch out the window of the coach at the passing street. Across the carriage Felicity, Ann and Polly are huddled. Felicity is the only one watching me, and she is watching me as though I may at any moment burst into flames and take the whole carriage with me.

We roll through the streets draped in snow. December has come through with a vengeance, laying waste to London streets. Along the sidewalks the electric lights burn brightly in the dark, casting pools of light on the passers-by. Merrily leans on me and I feel her warmth through my cloak. Felicity has worn a long, sweeping gown of lavender with white roses along the hipline. Her cloak is dark violet to match the necklace that she wears. Her hair is swept up in the new fashion of flounces and curls that tumble down over her shoulders. Ann’s hair is in more simple curls, with dark blue ribbons to match her dark blue gown.

The coach pulls to a stop before Tom’s house. He is living in the townhouse that Grandmama keeps in London for the season. As we alight from the carriage we are greeted by a wreath and a burning candle on the front door. The door swings open as we climb the steps; from it steps a maid that I do not know. She curtsies as we step inside, and I hear Tom’s foot steps on the stairs.

He descends dressed in a well tailored brown suit and white shirt and stops abruptly upon seeing me. “Gemma,” he sighs, coming toward me with open arms. The years have rounded out his severe features, but his mop of hair is still as fair as ever. I embrace him, reveling in the strange sense of security that I feel in his arms. “You look lovely,” Tom continues, pulling me to arms length to look me over. “It has truly been too long.”

“It has,” I agree, pulling away from him. “There is much to discuss, Tom.”

He nods as we hear more footsteps on the stairs. We all turn to see a young woman descend the stairs. She has chestnut brown hair swept off of her face and spilling down over her right shoulder. She wears a chocolate brown gown with gray trim. She pauses on the bottommost step and takes in the scene. “You must be Gemma,” she says, coming toward us. “It is such a pleasure to finally meet you. And these must be your friends.”

“Yes,” I answer, gesturing as I speak. “This is Miss Felicity Worthington and her ward, Polly. And this is Miss Ann Bradshaw.” I reach out and take Merrily’s hand, pulling her up beside me. “This is Merrily.” Tom’s eyes widened as he gazed at Merrily’s dark features. I turn to help her off with her cloak as Felicity, Ann and Polly shed their own.

“Gemma,” Tom warns, glancing to Felicity. “Should we retire to the study to speak in private?”

“No,” Felicity responds, coming up beside me and placing a hand on my arm. “We are all family here, Tom,” she says, addressing him in the informal manner of relations. I nod my agreement, while keeping my hand in Merrily’s.

I see Tom weighing Felicity’s words against his desire for privacy. His furtive glance to the dining room tells me that he is not worried about the ears of my company but of the ears of his servants. “Yes, all right,” he says, finally. “Miss Worthington, if you would escort us to the study.” He steps aside and gestures toward the room that was once my father’s study. “Helen, my dear, I leave Miss Bradshaw and the girls in your able care.” Helen nods, obviously intrigued by the strange turn of events.

Felicity and I step through the door and I stumble back in time to a day not so long ago, even though it seems like centuries. I sat at my father’s feet and listened to him speak of Mother; of the angel that he had let her become in his mind, and I knew that he was gone from me just as I was gone from him. In the year following Mother’s death he and I had grown apart so far that a chasm had sprung open between us. On those separate sides of the chasm we remained for the rest of his life, short and empty that as it was. He had been gone for nearly five years now, and I though I never saw him again I still remember him as he was before Mother died. I remember him laughing with a pipe in his hand, his eyes twinkling and his cheeks red. I remember happier days when I think of him, but this study brings only sadness to my heart.

Tom crosses to the bar and pours himself a glass of brandy, gulping it down heavily before offering Felicity or I a glass. We decline and he immediately pours another for himself. Finally, he turns, crosses his arms over his chest and stares at me. He does not speak again, his cool blue eyes fixed on me with an unnatural stillness.

“Tom,” I begin, clearing my throat. “You might have noticed that Merrily looks familiar.”

“It was that Indian, Mr. Kartik, wasn’t it?” Tom asks, and I notice that his knuckles are white from gripping his glass. It is a small miracle that it does not shatter in his hands. I nod, unable to form words in my dry throat. I cross the room and shakily reach for the bottle of brandy. The bottle clinks to the glass as I struggle to pour and finally Felicity crosses and rescues the bottle from my grip to pour me a glass. I sip at it quickly, feeling the liquor burn as it floats down. “I’ll destroy him!” Tom fumes, ignoring my display. “Where is the blackguard?”

“Oh, Tom, really!” I burst out. “It’s been six bloody years, and now you want to destroy him?” I am angry. I know that I have no real reason to be since Tom is merely saying what any brother would, but it still pains me to see him so filled with hate for Kartik. “He is gone, Tom. He will never return.”

Tom halts and slowly turns to face me, his glass shaking minutely in his hand. “You mean to tell me that he has left you in this manner?” he demands, slamming the glass down on the desk. Brandy sloshes from the sides of the glass and stains the desktop. “I’ll find him and have him hanged!”

Tears spark unbidden in my eyes. I had so wanted to remain calm throughout all of this, but Tom has struck a soft spot in my life. “He’s dead, Tom,” I whisper, my head dropping. “He has been dead since May of 1896. Six years, Tom. He did not know of Merrily.” I feel Felicity’s arm slide around my shoulders and I turn into her comfort. “Please do not speak ill of him, for he was-” I stop suddenly, unable to speak the words aloud. I want to tell Tom how I love Kartik, how I still do even six years after his death. I want to tell him how I travel to the battlefield where I lost him to converse with a tree in the hopes that I will see him for a brief moment. All of these words hang unspoken in the air between us as Tom stares at me openly, as though I have told him that the sky is a lovely lavender and London is actually part of Russia.

“Dead?” He asks finally and the word drips off of his tongue and stays in midair as though taunting me. “Gemma,” he continues and then stops. I sense that he wants to say something but I know that he will not. We have never had the kind of relationship that would warrant kind words or condolences that would mean much. He is angry with me for neglecting to tell him of Merrily and he is also unable to find the words to comfort me.

I see him struggling to find the words and I decide to help him as best I can. “It’s all right, Tom,” I say. “You don’t need to be a savior, I am glad for Merrily. I may have lost the love of my life, but he gave me a marvelous gift.” He finally meets my eyes and I feel the words slip out without thinking, “She is a beautiful child, I promise you. And if you do feel able to call her your niece you will never be shamed by her acts or abilities.” I gulp at the brandy, welcoming the fire in my throat. “She has done nothing wrong. If you are to be angry with someone for her existence, let that be me. But you should know that I feel no shame by it, she is my life.”

The silence that spreads through the room is so thick that I can taste it. I hold the empty brandy glass in my fingers and watch as Tom drains his own with one last gulp. Felicity stands near me, her hands clasped behind her back. I can feel her waiting just as I am, her shoulders squared against the fight I know that she believes is coming. A single thought steals into my mind; I can make Tom accept Merrily. All I need to do is employ the magic and he will accept anything that I tell him to.

“All right,” Tom says, shattering my thoughts. He carries his glass back over to the bar and continues, “Can we at least tell people that Merrily’s father died on the trip to America?”

My heart races against my ribs as this statement sinks in. Tom will accept Merrily as long as the scandal can be controlled. “No,” I answer, surprising Felicity so that she starts. “But we may tell them that he has died in war; for he did. If that will assuage your need to stop a scandal, then by all means, use it. You may even say we married,” I add, thinking of the dream that Kartik and I shared in the Caves of Sighs. In it I had been dressed as an Indian bride and we had shared the rites of marriage. I feel Tom’s gaze on me and for a moment I wonder if he believes that Kartik and I had indeed been married before his death. I believe it to be so in my heart and mind, so I feel no shame at allowing Tom to believe it as well. He might not agree with my wedding an Indian but he will not shun my daughter for it.

“Well, it is settled then,” Tom agrees, wrapping his arms around me in the briefest of embraces. It is fleeting but it is warming. As quickly as it begins it is over and the three of us are moving from the room.

In the parlor Ann and Helen are sitting on the sofa, laughing in a most unladylike manner. Polly sits on the floor, giggling behind her hands. In the middle of the room stands Merrily, hands on her hips and brown eyes sparkling. “The master, the swabber, the boatswain and I, the gunner and his mate loved Mall, Meg and Marian and Margery, but none of us cared for Kate; for she had a tongue with a tang, would cry to a sailor, go hang!” Merrily cries, her hand held high as though brandishing a sword. Helen and Ann dissolve into laughter again, hiding it behind their hands. I laugh as well, causing Merrily to spin toward me. “Mama!” she exclaims, her face lighting up. “Did you hear me?” she asks.

“Yes,” I say, scooping her into my arms. “It was a marvelous rendition of the Tempest, my sweet.” Tom watches us carefully for a long moment, until the silence becomes unbearable. Finally I speak. “Merrily, say hello to your uncle.”

“Oh!” she exclaims, squirming to be let down. I place her on the floor and she curtsies like a princess. “Hello, Uncle,” she says from her curtsy. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

No one in the room moves as Tom regards her in silence. I notice that even Helen holds her breath as she waits for Tom to speak. I find it humorous that after all these years I still rely on Tom to make the first move, say the first word, as if I am constantly dancing with him. “Hello, little one,” Tom answers softly. “The pleasure is all mine,” he bends and meets her at eye level. “May I hold you, little one?”

Without a response, Merrily rushes into his arms and he scoops her into an embrace. I am shocked by the look of joy on his face as he holds her close. I know how she feels against you and how the scent of her overwhelms you but I never expected Tom to be affected by it. “Uncle,” Merrily says, her voice sweet with the word. “Why have I never met you before?”

Tom laughs, and it rebounds off the walls and echoes back to us. It surrounds us until we all laugh as well. “Well,” he replies, giving her a spin. “Your mother thought that I might not be able to understand things about you.” I feel the blood in my veins going cold at his words, petrified that Merrily might hear negative connotations in his words. She knows she is different then the other girls and her recent admission of the visions has me on edge. “You see, your beauty is astonishing,” he whispers in a voice loud enough for all to hear. “She felt that I might grow overprotective and lock you away in a tower!” Merrily laughs sending silvery peals to reverberate back at us.

I glance to Helen and I see the surprise and awe on my face mirrored on hers. She has not seen this side of Tom either, and for that I find that I am glad. It warms me to know that my brother has graciously accepted Merrily into his life so readily. It strikes me in that moment that perhaps that moment so long ago with Tom, as we sat by the river and he digested the idea of magic, has changed him completely and for the better. He will perhaps always be a bit stuffy, but he will always accept the strange workings of his only sister, even if it is scandalous.

“Madam,” a maid says from the doorway, though I did not see her come in. “Dinner is served.”

“Thank you, Colette,” Helen says, rising to her feet. “Should we adjourn to the dining room?” We all nod our agreement and Tom sets Merrily down and offers his arm to his wife. I take Merrily’s hand and fall into step behind Helen and Tom while Polly, Felicity and Ann bring up the end of our haphazard train. As we merge into the dining room, we quickly fall into our seats. I encourage Merrily to sit between Tom and Ann while Polly finds a seat between Felicity and I. As soon as we are situated, the meal is brought to us, set before us on plates of fine bone china. I admire how Helen has had the table set, as though we are courtiers instead of a ragtag band of misfits that happen to be her relations.

I lift my glass of wine and take a small sip, fighting the wrinkling of my nose at the bitter taste. “So, Helen,” I say, smiling. “What plans do you have for the holiday?”

Helen glances to Tom, who nods to her. “We have been invited to several galas,” Helen answers. “But the one that I most look forward to is at the home of Lord and Lady Denby.” I exchange a glance with Felicity, who quickly averts her eyes. “Tom tells me that you have been to the Denby’s galas before.” The twinkle in her eye tells me that Tom has told her much more than that, but I let it slide as I nod gracefully. Helen glances again to Tom and asks, “May I tell them?”

“Of course, my dear,” Tom replies, cutting into his lamb. “And quickly, for I fear young Polly shall explode.” I glance to Polly, whose eyes are wide with excitement. She is practically shaking in her chair.

Helen leans forward as if to speak conspiratorially, but her voice carries to all at the table. “Well, Tom plays cricket with Mr. Middleton every week’s end and when he mentioned that you would all be in town for the holiday… Mr. Middleton extended the invitation to all of you! Isn’t it marvelous?”

I glance again to Felicity who finally meets my gaze, but I cannot read it. _Is it marvelous?_ I think to myself as my gaze shifts to Ann. Lady Denby was a principal player in the lie we concocted in the last year of our schooling; she no doubt remembers Ann and her lies. Felicity finally speaks up, though I hear the chill in her voice. “It is marvelous! Thank you for thinking of us. I’m not so sure that Gemma will have Merrily attend, but I’m sure Polly would love to see a real London gala.” I am not sure if Tom hears the cold tone in Felicity’s voice, but if he does then he does not show it. I watch her for a moment but she betrays nothing.

“Mama?” Merrily asks from across the table. “May I attend?”

“Oh, dear heart,” I answer, “It will run very late and we do not have a nanny. I think it would be best if you and I remained at the townhouse for the evening.”

“Nonsense!” Tom exclaims, reaching for his wine glass. “We can secure a nanny for the evening, I am sure. Why Helen knows of a great many families that will be bringing their nannies, don’t you dear?” Helen nods ecstatically, a smile in place. “I’m sure that one of those families would not mind allowing them to watch Merrily.”

I level my gaze at Tom. Surely he understands the implications of bringing Merrily into a society function and I cannot picture him willingly agreeing to the idea let alone concocting it. When he meets my gaze it is with challenge and I see his motives plain in his eyes. He is challenging my convictions in my possession of Merrily. He sees that it is one thing to come blazing into his home with this child but quite another to announce her before polite society. I shall rise to the occasion and not be shown as weak before him. “Why, thank you, Tom!” I exclaim, “I would love to bring Merrily along.” I challenge him back with my gaze and he smiles. I have passed his test.

“Then tomorrow we shall attend the Denby gala!” Helen cries jubilantly. “Oh, how wonderful!” I feel my heart still in my chest. Tomorrow is the gala and I shall have to face it with the strength of a million men, for this will be my true test of motherhood. I glaze to Felicity, she has paled in sympathy for me. I offer her a small smile, I will emerge victorious. Lady Denby is nothing compared to a riotous crowd of Winterlands creatures desperate for blood. At least that is what I repeat to myself over and over throughout the rest of dinner and the carriage ride home.


	4. Dressed to Impress

I am standing before my mirror, staring at myself in my jade gown. It is fashionably low cut and the waist is cinched as tightly as it can be while still allowing me to breathe. The door bursts open and Ann comes running in, holding a sash in one hand and her shoes in another. “I’m not sure if I should wear my sash or not,” she says breathlessly. I turn to glance at her and find myself stunned by her radiance. She wears a gown of scarlet with her hair piled a top her head. Her limp curls are gone, but her mouse brown hair color has not changed. Success has done wonders for her complexion and her hair is pinned in elaborate sweeps and ringlets. The sash she holds in her hand is bright white and its brilliance clashes with the elegance of the gown. I shake my head. “No sash?” she questions. Again I shake my head; my voice will not make an appearance quite yet. “And these shoes,” she adds, “Are they all right?” I nod, clearing my throat. Finally Ann stops moving and takes me in. “Gemma,” she breathes. “You’re stunning. A vision.”

I turn back to the mirror and stare at my reflection. I have pinned my hair back into the elaborate curls that I prefer and I have added hunter green gems to the pins. It gives me a glint of bedazzlement without seeming as though I am wearing jewels. Being of modest living, I do not wish to adorn myself with radiant gemstones when I shall walk among society families. The only jewels I own are the emeralds that Felicity gave to me on the day Merrily was born; these I wear on my throat. They are the only accessories I allow myself.

“It will be fine,” Ann whispers, coming up behind me. We are a holiday scene, the two of us. One of us wears the red of mistletoe while the other wears the green of holly. We are visions of Christmas, Ann and I.

A small voice calls from the door way and I turn to see Merrily standing there. She wears a dress of dark blue which Felicity bought for her early this day. It is made of velvet and stitched in black, with a wide collar and shiny black buttons. Her shoes have been polished until they gleam and her long dark hair is brushed to gloss. “You look beautiful, Mama,” she whispers in awe. I smile and kneel to the ground, uncaring about the wrinkles that I will inevitably create. She runs to me, throwing her arms about my shoulders and I feel her warmth cascade over me. I know that Lady Denby does not matter; in the end Merrily is my only concern. For her safety and happiness I would attend a thousand balls and stand before all of London at her side.

“The carriage is here, the carriage is here!” Polly cries, running into the room. She is wearing a sage green dress with flowers intertwined in her hair. “Auntie Gemma, the carriage is here!” I smile at her with Merrily still in my arms. Polly is so excited that I cannot help but laugh. “Come on!” she cries when I do not move fast enough. I rise to my feet and grab a cloak to wrap around my shoulders. Merrily runs off to fetch her own and soon the four of us are descending the stairs to meet Felicity in her light blue French couture gown. I envy her grace and fear it as well. Any hope of entering unnoticed is dashed by her elegance and stature; I know that she does not attract attention on purpose and I must forgive her for it all.

 

At the door a butler takes our cloaks and I am propelled into the ballroom of the great Denby home. Suddenly I am swept away by the memory of the first time I stepped into this ballroom. There is a receiving line which Felicity steers us toward. From across the hall I spy Helen and Tom; Helen waves to me happily and I find myself nodding and smiling in return. It is hard not to be kind to Helen, she smiles so readily at me that I find myself warmed by the honesty of it.

I duck away from the receiving line, murmuring something about greeting Tom and Felicity allows me to vanish from her side. I bring Merrily with me, rescuing her for the moment from meeting Lady Denby with her harsh stare and withering words. “Oh, Gemma,” Helen whispers as I get close to them. “I am so glad you made it!” She is beaming at me, her radiant brown hair is pulled back off of her face and her cheeks are flushed with excitement. For a moment I am taken aback by how stunning she is and I am impressed with Tom’s ability to find her. She glances down and smiles, “Hello, Miss Merrily,” she says bending to kiss Merrily’s cheeks. My little girl kisses in return but her eyes never leave the other ladies in their gowns.

“Oh, Gemma,” Helen continues, straightening up. “I have a woman to introduce you to. Her name is Miss Heathrow, she is the nanny of a very dear friend of mine.” Helen takes my arm in hers and then slips her hand into Merrily’s. “Miss Heathrow’s charges are currently with their grandparents on the way to Scotland, so she is at your service this evening. Isn’t that exciting!” Helen leads me into the ballroom to where the chaperones are standing, keeping an eagle eye on their charges as they spin around on the dance floor. A young woman, no older than seventeen is standing against the wall. Her hair is pulled back in a severe bun, taking away from her features. She is obviously of decent birth, perhaps orphaned as Ann was. “Miss Heathrow, this is Ms. East and her daughter Miss Merrily.”

“How do you do?” Miss Heathrow asks, curtsying. I am saddened by the downcast look in her eyes; she reminds me so of Ann. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Ms. East.”

“I am well, thank you, Miss Heathrow,” I respond, unable to say much else without betraying my nerves. I bend to speak to Merrily and I take care to keep my voice even. “Darling, I want you to listen very carefully to Miss Heathrow, all right?” Merrily nods, her eyes wide as saucers. I straighten back up and look at the nanny in the eye. “If she needs anything, please don’t hesitate to find me.” Miss Heathrow nods once and turns to take Merrily’s hand. For a fleeting moment I am afraid of letting them vanish into the crowd and then I hear Merrily’s laughter ring out. I smile to myself and follow Helen back into the hall to stand with Tom while Felicity, Ann and Polly proceed through the receiving line.

From the corner of my eye I see a face that I never expected to see again. I excuse myself from Tom and Helen and make my way into the ballroom. She is standing among a group of women that I cannot help but recognize. “Cecily,” I say, coming up beside her. She turns and her eyes widen. I turn to acknowledge the two other girls in the group. “Martha, Elizabeth.” They also stare at me. “How do you do?” I ask, smiling earnestly.

“Gemma,” Cecily whispers, and I see the fear from our last night together flit across her face. She is unable to recall the occurrences of that night but her fear and doubt remains. “I heard that you had gone to America.”

I nod, smiling even brighter. “Yes,” I answer. “But I wasn’t there long. I have been living in Paris with Felicity Worthington.”

“Felicity?” Cecily asks, her eyes darting over my shoulder. I turn to see Felicity and Ann enter the ballroom. “My, my,” Cecily continues, finding Felicity as well. “I certainly didn’t expect to see her back in London.” Her haughtiness arrives in her voice. I frown at her, anger bubbling up from my insides. I realize in a flash why I had hated Cecily Temple.

I speak again, my voice as light as I can make it. “Cecily, tell me. How was your season?” It is cold, I can feel it but I cannot stop it. “Did you snare a husband?” It comes out far angrier than I meant for it to.

“Yes,” she snaps, drawing wide eyes from Martha and Elizabeth. “I did. And what of you?” she demands, “Did you marry?” Her voice is dark and cold, she has no love lost for me and of this I am suddenly grateful. It was foolish of me to think that these years may have changed her.

My mind flashes to Kartik as he looked in the Caves of Sighs, with my hands marked in the tradition of a Hindi bride. “Yes,” I answer; my voice suddenly sad. I wish that I could control it but I know now that it is impossible. Cecily glances over my shoulder as Felicity and Ann appear and she asks me no more questions. She turns her back to us and continues her conversation with Martha and Elizabeth.

I feel Felicity’s hand on my arm and I allow her to lead me away. “I can’t do this,” I whisper to her. “These people; I don’t belong here. I don’t think I ever did.”

“We didn’t,” Felicity replies as the three of us pull into our own group. “But being a part of London society again demands we stay. Just ignore Cecily, she is still the same petty girl from school.” I nod, glancing around the room. “Look who it is, Gemma.” Ann turns to follow her gaze but I cannot look, I know who it is. I have felt his presence in the room since I entered it. “Simon Middleton.”

“I can’t do this now, Fee,” I whisper. My altercation with Cecily is still fresh in my mind, and the memory of Kartik has caused my throat to dry up. “I am going to get something to drink.” I dart away without turning to look at Simon and vanish into the crowd of strangers. By the refreshments table I allow myself to watch the crowd. The people in this room could have once been my friends, but I removed myself from their world before that could ever happen. There are a great many women of my age, most of which I recognize from Spence or some galas, and some that I do not.

I feel someone move up beside me but I do not turn. I know that it would be polite to turn and greet whoever it is, but I find that I cannot bring myself to face anyone yet. So we stand there, so close that we are nearly touching. It is not until he speaks that I know who it is. “Miss Doyle,” he says softly.

I bring my eyes up to meet his and my heart pounds for a long moment. “It’s Ms. East,” I answer just as softly. I see Simon’s eyes widen with these words and my heart pounds in my veins. “Hello Mr. Middleton,” I continue.

“You married?” he asks, turning to face me. I find myself also turning toward him and stepping back to provide ample space between us. “Do I know of him? East, you said?”

A small smile crosses my face as I think of the moment in this very house when Kartik threw stones at the window to keep Simon from touching me. “I don’t believe the two of you met,” I answer.

Simon glances around the room, scanning the faces of the crowded. He is undoubtedly looking for a stranger that he did not invite. “Will I have the opportunity to meet this mysterious Mr. East?” he asks when he does not see anyone that meets his requirements.

“Unfortunately, no,” I answer, my eyes falling. Kartik’s face flares in my mind and I feel a stabbing sensation in my chest. I find the words struggling for purchase in my throat. I need to say it; I need to hear the honesty in it. I need to know that this lie is not really a lie. “My husband died in battle,” I whisper, unable to give the words strength to fly on their own. They drift from my lips and hang in the air.

It lingers between us like a storm cloud, those spoken words. Simon’s mouth opens and closes and I can see his thoughts warring in his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Gemma,” he whispers, and his words strike me hard. Felicity and Ann are the only people who have comforted me in my losses; Simon’s concern wounds me more deeply then I imagined possible.

I sense someone stepping up between us but I find myself unable to glance to the newcomer. Instead, I glance away and immediately find Miss Heathrow across the room. She is standing just behind Merrily, watching as the couples swirl on the floor. “Ms. East,” Simon says, drawing my attention back to him. My eyes fall on the newcomer and I feel myself flush. “May I introduce my wife, Mrs. Lucy Middleton. Though I daresay that you have met.”

I reach out to take the beauty by the hand and curtsy politely. “We have,” I answer. “However last we spoke you were called Fairchild. My congratulations to you both.”

Lucy offers me a warm smile and I see it in her eyes. She is proud that she has Simon and for that I am glad. Simon was never meant to be mine, and I believe that I knew it from the moment I met him. “Yes,” Lucy says, “Miss Doyle, wasn’t it? It is such a pleasure to see you again! And married, I presume. Do point him out; is he dashing?” 

I recognize it as a question that Simon would have once laughed at, but now he only glances away in sadness. But I shall not let the question cast me back into melancholy, for I shall have to answer it a hundred times over by the end of the evening. “Sadly, Mr. East is not here this evening. My husband was taken from me in battle,” I answer, meeting her eyes. I see the shock flare within them but she says nothing. “It was a long time ago,” I continue, hoping to ease her discomfort; though I have no idea why. Perhaps the sadness is out of place on her fair face.

Her hand flutters to Simon’s arm and I see how she leans into him. “I cannot imagine living without…” Her words trail off and I find my heart hammering. “Oh, Gemma, I’m so terribly sorry for your loss.” I am surprised to hear her use my Christian name, but it is not unwelcome. I smile at her and she offers a smile in return. “Would you like to join me for tea tomorrow?” she asks suddenly, as though seized by the idea. “It would be so wonderful to actually have a chance to speak with you without having to play hostess at a gala.”

She reaches out and touches my arm in the softest of gestures. I am overwhelmed by her kindness, but I offer her a chance to withdraw her invitation. “I would love to join you, but I am afraid that I will be unable to find a companion to watch my daughter,” I answer and I see both Middletons’ eyes widen.

“A child?” Lucy asks, glancing around our feet as if she has missed something. “How joyous! Is she present?” I nod in response and glance back across the room to where Merrily stands. Lucy follows my gaze and a smile creases her fair cheeks even though I see the uncertainty flair in her sweet eyes. “Oh, she’s lovely.”

“Thank you,” I answer, feeling suddenly uncomfortable with the length of time that I have spent with the Middletons. “Please excuse me, and thank you for the invitation Mrs. Middleton. I am sorry that I have to decline.”

“Nonsense,” Lucy blurts out, waving her hand dismissively. “You should bring the girl. I would love to meet her!” I am astonished at what she suggests. She has seen Merrily and she must truly recognize her nationality; I am astonished at her sincere smile and for a moment I am unable to speak. She must see me warring for a response for she quietly adds, “You are always welcome here, Ms. East. You and any member of your family. I shall always remember what you said to me on our last meeting and I hope to one day repay your kindness.”

It takes all of my strength not to stare at her openly for what she is suggesting. Simon Middleton will one day become Lord Denby and she, in turn, will have the title of Lady. Yet, here she stands, extending an invitation to a dark-skinned child and her mother and welcoming them into her home. I nod once, not trusting my voice to remain steady in speech. Lucy nods once in return and we part ways without another word.

 

Across the room, Felicity lies in wait, her bright blue eyes flitting over my face as I approach her. Ann has vanished to the dance floor, where she twirls and promenades with handsome men. Felicity stands silent as I fall in beside her and I feel her hand brush my back in a gesture of comfort. In a moment it is gone and I am surrounded by the cold of the ballroom once more. “Mrs. Middleton is still as fair as ever,” Felicity whispers in my ear. I nod in agreement as my eyes drift to Merrily and Miss Heathrow. Polly stands near them, her eyes on the dance floor. “I think I’ll speak to Nightwing about perhaps taking Polly next fall.” Surprise rocks me. After all of our trials to keep Polly in Paris, I find it hard to believe that she would send her away on a whim.

“Fee,” I whisper, my hand on her arm. “Are you sure that is the best thing?”

She nods, her eyes darting to mine. “She deserves a season. Look at her.” I glance to Polly and witness what Felicity sees. The girl is standing alone among the girls too young to dance. She does not look left or right; she only looks ahead to the dance floor. I can see that she is tapping her foot beneath her skirts and her fingers twitch with the music.

“Yes,” I agree. “But can we give her one? She would need sponsorship, and we have burned many bridges in our lives.”

Felicity nods once and I see the frown crease her cheeks. “I shall worry about that when I reach it. For now I will speak to Nightwing and see about getting her a place in classes.”

“Yes. All right,” I answer. “We will discuss it with her when we reach Spence.”

The dance ends and the swirling couples come to a halt. All around us the guests applaud and I see Ann being brought to us by a striking young gentleman with soft brown eyes. She approaches us with a bright smile on her face. As they step up to us, she gestures to us. “May I introduce my companions, Ms. East and Miss Worthington.” We curtsy accordingly as Ann gestures to the man and says, “This is Mr. Howard.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you both,” Mr. Howard says, taking each of our hands in his and bowing gracefully. “Miss Bradshaw tells me that you have all been friends since school.” Felicity and I nod once in agreement and I smile to Ann. “That really is remarkable, to be friends for so long in this changing world.”

“Well,” Ann counters, returning my smile. “The secrets we hold are far too fragile to allow breathing room.” Felicity’s eyes widen at Ann’s statement and she laughs aloud, startling women around us. She smothers her laugh with her fan but I can still see her dancing eyes. She is amused by Ann’s audacity, and I must admit that I am as well.

Mr. Howard inclines his head, his own dark eyes dancing behind long lashes. “A lady’s secrets are hers alone, and she alone may share them,” he responds in a velvety voice. Ann smiles and brings her fan up to hide her lips. “Miss Bradshaw, I thank you most humbly for the dance and I bid you ado.” His gaze flickers to mine and then Felicity’s as he adds, “It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance and I hope that we shall meet again.” We curtsy slightly and he backs away, still bowed slightly at the waist. Ann giggles behind her fan as he finally straightens and vanishes into the crowd.

“My, my,” Felicity says, turning to Ann and dropping her fan. “That was enthralling.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Ann asks as her voice drips with sweetness. Once more I am amazed at Ann’s lightness, as though the girl that lived at Spence never existed.

“Oh,” Felicity answers in playful warning. “That young man is completed besotted.”

A flush wells up in Ann’s fair cheeks as she replies, “Nonsense, Fee! It was merely a dance.”

“Besotted,” Felicity adds with finality and Ann stamps her foot but does not argue. She knows as well as I that there is no fighting Felicity. With Felicity’s final word spoken, we turn silently to watch the crowd. Across the room I see Cecily and Elizabeth speaking from behind their fans. They are watching our group as they whisper and I feel my blood boil in my veins. “Ignore them,” Felicity whispers from the corner of her lips and I turn my head to stare at her. It is impossible that she knows what I have been thinking and yet I find myself astonished. “You’re turning red and that just won’t do,” she offers in response to my glare.

“They are whispering about us,” I reply, unable to keep the anger from my voice.

Felicity nods once and gestures to the room with her fan. “They all have, or haven’t you noticed? You caused quite a scandal when you fled for America after Spence; I was only just behind you in it as well. And Ann, here,” Felicity added, gesturing again with her fan. Ann had the sensibility to blush at Felicity’s attention. “Well, she’s attracts enough attention for us all.”

I glance around and for the first time I notice that many eyes are pointed in our direction and more than most of them dart away at my glance. “Why did you agree so readily to attend if you knew that this would happen?” I ask, although I already know the answer. Felicity was hoping for just this outcome, her appetite for drama has not faded in these past years. “You willingly subjected Merrily to this?” I ask, incredibility flooding my voice.

Felicity shakes her head once and whispers, “No. You subjected Merrily to this. I suggested that she stay at the townhouse.” She finally turns to glance at me and a smile creases her face. “I brought you here for one reason, Gemma. To face your darkest fears once and for all.” I stare at her, uncertain of her meaning. She tilts her chin in a gesture behind me as she whispers, “Just hold your head high and follow your heart.” Aloud she says, “Hello, Lady Denby.” She drops into a curtsy.

I square my shoulders and turn to face the gray haired stoic woman behind me. “Lady Denby,” I say, also dropping into a curtsy.

“Miss Doyle,” she answers; her voice is as frosty as the wind swirling at the windows, “Welcome back to London.” With these words I know that I am not welcome in the least.


	5. Broken Promises

She stands before me in a gray gown, with her hair pulled back from her finely creased face. She watches me with her hawk-like gray eyes until I feel myself wavering under her stare, but still I hold my ground. She cannot know what I have done to her family; to her husband, but she knows not to like to me, that much is certain. “Lady Denby,” I respond, “Happy Christmas. I greatly appreciate the invitation.”

“Ah,” Lady Denby says, a false smile in place. “Yes, I shall have to thank my son for arranging this lovely meeting.” Her gaze drifts over my shoulder to where I still feel Felicity standing. “I have heard talk of you from Paris, is it true that you reside there now?”

I nod once, my gaze still locked on her. “Yes, I do,” I reply, waiting for her next question.

“Mother,” Simon says, arriving at her side. “I have been looking everywhere for you.” He glances to me and I see the glimmer in his eye; it is the familiar mischievousness that I once knew. I have the feeling that he has not been searching at all for Lady Denby, but instead has noticed my plight and has come. “I see you have found Ms. East,” he continues, gesturing to me. I see Lady Denby’s eyes widen slightly at his comment but I watch as she reins back her surprise.

She turns to glance at Simon and then her eyes drift over the crowd. She is undoubtedly searching for a face that she does not know. I watch her for a long moment, waiting for her search to end. When it finally does, her eyes return to my face. “My husband did not accompany me this evening, Lady Denby,” I explain. Felicity steps closer to me and I feel her hand on my elbow. Lady Denby glances to her fleetingly before her gaze returns to me once more. “He was lost in battle years ago.”

If she is shocked she does not show it, and the horror does not show on her features the way that it was so readily displayed on Lucy’s. “My condolences, Ms. East,” she says finally and I hear Felicity’s soft intake of breath behind me. “If you will excuse me, I have guests to attend to.” I drop into a curtsy once more as she excuses herself and steps away.

Simon remains stationary, watching his mother depart for a long moment before he turns to face me. He speaks softly, avoiding the ears around us. “I am sorry that she acts as she does. I still believe that she imagines that you did something that night that we danced.” I see a ghost of a memory flit across his face and then it is gone. “But that would be mad, wouldn’t it?” He laughs slightly and then turns away. “I must go, Ms. East. But please, enjoy the ball.” Without another word, he vanishes into the crowd.

I turn back to Felicity and offer a half-hearted smile. She smiles in return and offers me an arm. I lace my arm through hers and turn back to the dance floor. Ann stands behind us, not saying a word, but I feel her discomfort. She has not said a word since Mr. Howard left but she does not always have to speak. I sense that she is grateful that Lady Denby skipped over her in her assessment of our situation.

“Gemma,” she whispers. “Don’t you think we should take the girls home?” I turn to look at her, but she is not watching me. Her eyes are focused across the room; I follow her gaze and my eyes fall to Merrily. She is still standing upright but I can see that she has grown sleepy in this late hour. She sways back and forth to the music and I can tell that she barely notices the people around her. Miss Heathrow is watching as well, and she steps a bit closer to place a steadying hand on her shoulder.

I nod once and glance to Felicity in askance. “Of course, Gemma,” Felicity answers. “We may go whenever you wish.” I nod again and glance back to Merrily.

“I’ll go to her and prepare her for our departure,” Ann offers, stepping away from us.

“No,” I answer softly, my hand falling to her arm. I hold her still with my light touch. “You are not my daughter’s governess,” I continue. “I’ll not ask you to do such things.”

It is a common argument that we have had over the years. Each of us dote on Merrily, but Ann is the one I worry over. She came so close to living the life of a servant and it pains me to imagine that life for her.

She responds in her usual way; with a smile and a whispered argument. “I do not do it because you ask, I do it because I wish to.” Without another word she steps away and our connection is lost. She rounds the dance floor and stops beside Merrily and Miss Heathrow. They speak for a long moment and then Ann takes Merrily’s hand and leads her toward the cloak room.

I turn to move along the wall and find Felicity gazing off into space. “Fee,” I whisper, following her gaze. In the crowd I see Mrs. Worthington; who, until this moment, has escaped our attention. “Do you wish to speak to her?” I ask in another whisper.

She shakes her head no but she whispers, “yes,” in return. I give her a playful shove only light enough to propel her a few feet. That is all she needs to move on her own. I wait until she is a few steps ahead of me and then I follow at a slower pace. It is because I am moving in her wake that I catch the conversation that I wish I had not heard.

“Did you see the child?” Cecily asks. Martha eagerly agrees. “I never knew that Miss Bradshaw had a child, but there she was. And did you see the color of her skin? Far too dark to be pure blood.”

I stop in my tracks and slowly pivot to face the two women. Cecily recognizes me with sudden clarity and has the good sense to blush. “Hello, Cecily,” I say with a fake smile in place. “I could not help but overhear your conversation.”

Martha’s fan flutters over her face but she does not speak as I gaze solely at Cecily. “Please, do not stop on my account,” I continue, gesturing.

“It is not polite to eavesdrop,” Cecily responds haughtily.

“But I assume gossip is allowed?” I ask, maintaining my cool tone.

The two women exchanged quick glances and Martha pipes up. “We were simply discussing actors and their lifestyles. Obviously they have a lesser regard for the concepts of class. If Miss Bradshaw wishes to marry outside her station that is her own business.”

“I see,” I answer, nodding once. I turn my head slightly and see Felicity as she reaches her mother’s side. The two do not embrace, and only Mrs. Worthington looks the least bit happy. I ache to go closer but I know that I cannot leave this matter without resolution. “If it would do your conversation any service, Cecily,” I continue, unable to keep the tone of my voice soft. Several women turn to glance in our direction, alarmed by the sound of my voice. “I should tell you that the young girl that Miss Bradshaw accompanied from the room was my daughter, not hers.” Cecily and Martha both stare at me in astonishment. “Now, if you will excuse me. Perhaps I should go to Felicity and prevent a scene.” I bob into a slight curtsy and leave them with their whispers.

When I arrive beside Felicity she is speaking calmly with her mother. I must admit that I did not expect much civility between the two of them. “Felicity,” I whisper, placing a hand on her arm. Mrs. Worthington glances to me and nods once in recognition. “Hello, Mrs. Worthington,” I continue, nodding once as well. Ann is waiting near the door; she is wearing her cloak. Beside her stand Merrily and Polly, they are holding hands and watching me. Polly’s eyes are wide as she sees Felicity speaking to her mother and I see her glance around the room as she goes ashen. “Really, Felicity,” I continue. “We must be going.”

“Yes,” Felicity answers. “Well, Mother, it was nice to see you once again.” She laces her arm through mine and we turn away from Mrs. Worthington.

As we step away I glance at Felicity’s profile. Her face is cool and calm but I see emotions warring in her eyes. “Are you all right?” I whisper as we reach the doorway.

“Yes,” she chokes out as she glances away. Ann hands us our cloaks and we make our way toward the door. A butler waits with his hand on the knob and as we move closer he pulls it open. Ann steps through the door and takes Merrily’s hand in hers.

“Ms. East!” Lucy Middleton calls from the doorway. I turn to greet her. “You are leaving so soon?” she asks, coming across the hall to take my hands in hers.

I gesture to where Ann and Merrily stand in the door. “Yes, it has been an exciting evening for Merrily. I would like to put her to bed.”

“Of course!” Lucy exclaims, my hand still trapped in hers. “You really must promise me that you will come to tea tomorrow!” I look around at Felicity but she is studiously fastening her cloak about her shoulders and intentionally ignoring my plight. She will leave me alone in this exchange.

I glance to Merrily where she leans against Ann’s hand. “Yes,” I whisper in response, “Of course we will join you.”

“Wonderful!” Lucy exclaims. “Come by at three for afternoon tea, if you would.”

“Yes, of course.” I curtsy slightly and reach out to gesture to Merrily and she leaves Ann’s side to slip her hand into mine. My little daughter looks up at Lucy with huge brown eyes and curtsies her deepest curtsy. “Merrily, this is Mrs. Middleton,” I say softly.

“Good evening, Mrs. Middleton,” Merrily says, her lips pulled back in a timid smile. “Thank you so much for the invitation.”

Lucy’s jaw drops slightly in astonishment before she regains her composure. “You are very welcome, Miss Merrily. I look forward to seeing you again.” Merrily graciously bobs once more and I see Felicity hide a smirk behind her fan. I reach out and pull her hood up as Lucy sees us to the door. She bids us farewell, her eyes lingering on Merrily’s back as we descend the stairs. Fleetingly I wonder what kind of dark secrets she is holding that would cause her to be so astounded by my child.

The carriage waits in front of us, and I am grateful that Tom has thought of us on this frigid night. I help Merrily into the carriage and then Polly as well. Felicity follows me as Ann brings up the rear. It is cozy in the carriage, with Merrily draped across my lap and Felicity at my side. All too easily I am lured into a near sleep. Across the compartment Ann is watching out the window, her eyes sparkling brightly. I cannot help but think of the light on her face as she danced with Mr. Howard. Her life has gotten considerably easier since she became an actress but it is nowhere near perfect. With a sigh I realize that none of ours are.

We are passing over a long, dark bridge and the Thames stretches out below us in a long inky ribbon. Mist curls up from the icy waters, swirling into the rings of light spilled over from the electric lamps. I am nearly asleep in my thoughts when I see a form swirl from the mists of the river. He is cloaked in long, dark rags that blow in tatters about him. His face is pale and his eyes ringed with black; he stares out at me as though he cannot see; which he cannot. Jedediah is not really there, hovering above the glassy water; he is sending me a call.

His voice rings out into my ears, deep and monotone. “Priestess, there is news. The council awaits your return,” he says, and I tumble forward as the carriage hits a bump on the street. Merrily jerks awake and cries out in surprise. Felicity jumps at her outburst and Polly meets her cry. When I turn back to the river, Jedediah is gone.

 

The carriage pulls us up to the townhouse and we spill out. No sooner are we in the door when Felicity and Ann drop their cloaks and dash up the stairs. Merrily is asleep in my arms so I carefully maneuver the stairs and arrive in her bedroom. I quickly and quietly undress her and place her night gown on the bed. Ann appears beside me to pull off Merrily’s stockings and replace them with flannel socks. We dress her in her nightgown and slip her beneath her sheets. Polly appears in her own nightgown and slips in beside Merrily. We kiss them both goodnight and turn to find Felicity standing just outside the door.

I step out and close the door, gesturing them into my bedroom. Once my door is closed I turn to them, and wait a moment before speaking. “We need to go into the realms,” I say simply. “Jedediah sent me a vision; there has been news.”

Ann and Felicity exchange glances for only a moment before nodding quickly. “All right,” Felicity says, moving to draw the curtains shut. We join hands, me in my cloak, Ann in her gown without shoes and Felicity in her dressing robe. Our varying states of undress are not even thought of as we bring the door of light into view and step within the realm.

We step into the garden and find the council sitting around the great circle of stone chairs. Gorgon waits by the silver arch as though she is made of stone. Only when I approach her does she finally move and it is merely a bow of greeting. Ann and Felicity meander off as I pass under the archway and enter the circle of chairs. Gorgon follows me to take her own seat and silence falls over the group. The council looks to me and I call the meeting to order.

Jedediah nods once in recognition and begins to speak. “My travels have taken me through the Borderlands and the Winterlands to a place far removed from both. The Underlands are a cold and desolate place, worse even than the Winterlands once were. It was a dangerous trek, and many times I was pushed to the brink of nothingness, but I have succeeded and returned with this news. The Poppy Warriors have risen from the depths. They are faster and stronger and much angrier. They do not have access to the magic, so they are unable to change forms while in the Underlands. I am unsure if they will be able to change forms once they return to the other realms.”

He stops speaking for a moment, holding my gaze, and I am chilled to the bone. He continues to speak. “There was no mention of ghostly girls or any whispers of Merrily. I caught nothing of a plot to harm her in the Underlands.”

I nod, relieved. “And there is no talk of an uprising?” I question. Jedediah shakes his head. “Has anyone else found anything?”

Philon’s hand rises in acknowledgment and at my gesture the creature begins to speak. “We have heard whispers from the woods, Priestess. They claim that the lands past the lagoon have gone barren. Unfortunately we have been unable to send a scout past the water nymphs, there is something out there that they are protecting.” The creature motions to Gorgon and adds, “Even the barge cannot pass, for that was our first thought.”

“Will you continue to try to send out scouts?” I ask, my eyes on Philon. The creature bows his head in agreement. “Thank you.” My gaze falls on the other members of the council as I wait for the next to speak.

When no one offers anything more, Gorgon’s voice rises from the silence. “I have heard nothing else from the girl that came to the garden that day but two more girls have been sighted in the woods near the Borderlands. Some of the creatures have reason to believe that they are living near the ruins of the old castle, though no one can find the location.”

Silvie’s soft voice floats on the wind as though she is a spirit. “Majesty, we have seen the girls that Gorgon describes. They hunt in our woods; they are savage creatures that care not for any creatures but themselves. They call themselves priestesses, as you are. One has been overheard whispering to herself that she has found the way and that she is holy.” She glances to the woods furtively as she adds, “They collect the small red berries of the Borderlands and paint them onto their bodies as though they are at war.”

I shiver in my seat. Mae Sutter is following the ideas that Pippa placed in her head all those years ago. She is still collecting the berries and worshipping a corrupted spirit. I follow Silvie’s gaze to the woods and feel sudden fear in my stomach. “Very well,” I sigh. “Mae Sutter and her followers are of little concern to me right now. Keep an eye out for their mischievousness but do not seek them out at this time. We really must find out all we can about the Poppy Warriors and these ghostly girls.” I turn my gaze to Asha and Philon, “And we must find out about the lands on the other side of the lagoon. If there is anything that we can do we must see to it.” Philon and Asha nod. Jedediah nods also as my gaze swings around to him. “And you will see what else you can find out in these Underlands?” I ask. He nods once more. “Very well, if there is nothing else-”

Bessie’s hand shoots up and I stop suddenly. “Sorry, miss,” she says sheepishly. “I just need to say sum’thin’ b’fore I lose me nerve.”

“Of course, Bessie,” I reply. “There is nothing to be ashamed of. Speak up.”

Bessie glances about the council before resting her eyes on the ground. “A few days ago I was sleepin’ in me hammock, I was. And I woke up real sudden-like to this voice, and I swears it sounded like Mae. She was callin’ my name, she was. Telling me to join her. I thoughts it was a dream, so I just ignored it. When I woke up the next mornin’, me wrist looked like this.” She held out her left hand and on it I saw a twisted bruise, as though a rope had been tightened around it.

“Bessie,” I whisper in awe. “Did you see anything of her at all?”

Bessie shook her head, but her eyes were wide in their sockets. She is still staring at the ground. “No, miss. But I was right scared, I was. I’ve been sleeping in the garden ever since.”

“All right,” I reply softly. “Perhaps Mae should be a bit higher on the list, if not for Merrily’s safety then for Bessie’s.” The council nod their agreement. “All right then, this meeting is adjourned.”

Once again, the council slowly disbands until it was only me and Gorgon sitting in the seats. Finally, Gorgon turns to me and says, “Will we be going into the Winterlands today, Most High?”

“No, Gorgon,” I reply. “I have no news for him, so I shall have nothing to say.”

Gorgon is silent for a long time as we sit, neither willing to say good-bye. Finally Gorgon speaks aloud, her deep voice is soft. “I will not argue with you, Most High, but I feel it is my duty to tell you that the tree’s magic grows stronger with each visit you make.”

My heart beats faster in my chest as I bring my eyes to meet hers. “Really?” I question, leaning forward slightly. “Is that true?”

“Yes, Most High. I feel that the tree flourishes when you are near.”

I glance off in the direction of the field, where Ann and Felicity are sitting. “All right,” I agree. “Just allow me a few moments.”

Gorgon rises to her feet and replies, “I will wait for you at the river, Most High.” With that she vanishes from the garden and strolls down the hill to the barge.

I also rise and make my way over to my friends. Ann sees me coming and sits up a bit more, nudging Felicity as she does. When I reach them I kneel at their side. “I am going into the Winterlands,” I say softly. “To the tree.” Felicity nods, her gaze growing colder. “Would you like to come?” I ask. Four eyebrows arch and no one speaks. “All of us?”

A smile brushes Felicity’s cheeks and she nods once. “I would like to,” she answers, glancing to Ann. Ann nods also, but her eyes find mine.

I know that this moment has been a long time coming, but my friends have the right to see where I go when I leave them. As far as I know they have not been there since that battle and while I have had a chance to visit the place and heal the scars, they have not. “It’s all right, Ann. I would like you to come.” Ann nods more decisively and we all rise to our feet and make the trek down to the river where Gorgon awaits.

“Hello, Gorgon,” Ann says, bowing her head in respect.

“Greetings, Priestess,” Gorgon replies, bowing her head to both Felicity and Ann. Felicity greets her in a similar manner and we all step abroad the barge.

The gentle trip down the river is peaceful and for the first time since that awful day my friends and I stand together on the barge as we pass through the Borderlands. Ann gasps in surprise as we cross into the Winterlands and I remember that she has not seen them since before the magic was returned. Their savage beauty is more apparent to me today of all days, for I see it through my friends’ eyes. Felicity gazes in awe at the soft, verdant grasses and the deep blue cloudless skies that stretch above. It is no longer the barren wasteland of yesterday, but instead a promise of hope for tomorrow.

When we finally arrive at the small inlet, Gorgon brings the barge to a halt and we disembark. Down the path the four of us stroll, taking in our surroundings in silence. The rock juts out before us and I hold my breath as we round the corner. There at the top of the hill stands the tree, tall and regal. The wind blows through the leaves and I hear my name calling out to me. Behind me, Ann gasps audibly at the sound. “How haunting,” Felicity whispers. I nod my agreement as Gorgon sits down on her usual rock.

Beside her, Felicity and Ann pause. When I turn I see uncertainty on their faces. “Do you want us to wait here?” Ann asks, gesturing to Gorgon’s rock seat.

“No,” I answer. “Come with me.” It is all the encouragement that they need. They are swiftly at my side, their arms linked in mine. Together, bound this way, we climb the hill.

At the peak sits Wendy, her blind eyes watching us. “Hello, Lady Hope,” she says.

“Hello, Wendy,” I answer softly, kneeling beside her.

“Oo’ is that with you?” she asks.

Ann kneels beside me as well and answers, “Hello, Wendy.”

“Miss Ann!” she cries happily, throwing her hands out toward Ann’s voice. “Oh, ‘ow are you, Miss Ann?”

“I am well,” Ann answers with a laugh. “You look beautiful, Wendy.”

“Thank you, Miss Ann. You sound even more lovely than before.”

“Hello, Wendy,” Felicity inserts.

“Miss Felicity!” Wendy exclaims, leaping to her feet. “Oh it is wonderful to hear your voice!”

Felicity bends to embrace her and I smile. Wendy is still the same little girl that we knew, despite the years that she has been here.

Wendy embraces each of us in turn and when she reaches me she says, “Lady Hope, I will leave you to your meeting. He has missed you.” I nod and kiss the top of her head before she vanishes down the hill.

We stand alone at the apex of the hill, staring up at the bright green foliage of the tree. Ann steps closer to me and I can feel her heartbeat racing in her arm. Felicity waits a step away from me, near enough to touch but far enough away to seem independent. “All right,” I say, dropping my gaze to shift a look at them. “Wendy claims that it won’t work for her when she touches the tree, so put your hands on my arms and maybe we can fall in together.”

“Yes, all right,” Ann says softly as she reaches out to place her hand on my wrist. Felicity follows suit and I outstretch my palms toward the tree trunk.

The familiar clouds surround me and I am within the tree with Felicity and Ann at my sides. They drop their hands and gaze around in wonder. “Oh, my,” Ann whispers as she stares up at the limitless sky. We are standing amidst a sea of clouds, surrounded in pure white. From the clouds before us steps Kartik, dressed all in black. His eyes are dancing brightly as he looks at us. “Oh, my,” Ann breathes again, her eyes wide. “It really is you.”

“Miss Bradshaw,” he says bowing at the waist. He turns to Felicity, who is watching him curiously. “Miss Worthington,” he continues, bowing once more. “It is a pleasure to see you again.” Felicity and Ann both curtsy and his eyes come to me. “Hello, my love,” he adds, heedless of our company.

I smile at him. We are long past the ideas of propriety; he is, for all purposes, long dead. I feel no shame in referring to him as my husband in my real life, and I feel no shame in acting as though he is when I am given the gift of seeing him. I step to him and he enfolds me in his arms, tucking me away in the relative safety. “Hello, Kartik,” I answer as he bends his head to touch his lips to mine. I know that it is only in my mind, but I feel him there.

In his arms I forget that Felicity and Ann are watching us and the world falls away. “How is the little one?” he asks, his voice steady and deep. I am almost thrown back to the nights we would meet under the stars at Spence. “Any news from the council?” he asks.

“Nothing conclusive,” I answer. “One member claims that he has caught wind of the Poppy Warriors rising in a realm called the Underlands.” As I say the words, Kartik’s eyes darken and the dancing ceases. “You have heard of it?” Kartik’s eyes cut to Felicity and Ann and he nods. “What do you know of it?”

He takes a step back from me for a moment, and then turns me so that I lean against him as he speaks to all of us. “I don’t know much of the Underlands, but I know that they are terribly violent. All the Rakshana ever told us was that it was not to be trifled with. The only way to it is through a sea of blood, where the souls of those who took their own lives have been locked.”

In the position that I am standing I can see Ann and Felicity’s faces clearly. Ann’s is contorted in disgust while Felicity seems intrigued. “What exactly do you mean?” Ann asks, her voice shaking.

“When a person takes his own life, he is not allowed to cross into the mists. He is kept drowning in a river of blood,” he answers, his arms are still around me but now I do not feel him moving. All four of us are silent for a very long few moments. I feel the magic dissipating from around me. My time is almost up. Kartik senses it too and I fell his arms tighten momentarily. “Gemma,” he says, turning me to face him. The girls behind us fall away and I imagine that it is just the two of us. “Promise me that you will not go into the Underlands. I cannot sense you there, if I were to lose you I wouldn’t know what to do.” I nod once; he is fading from my sight. “Say the words, Gemma. Say that you promise.”

“I promise,” I whisper as I bring my hands up to cup his face. I lean up for a kiss and he kisses me in return. My eyes are closed but I know that he is gone. The magic leaves me sitting on the grass in front of the tree with my friends on either side of me. I find myself crying as I lean against the tree; it is only a tree once again. The magic is spent.

I do not know how long I have been sitting here when I finally feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn my head to find Felicity leaning toward me; on the other side of me Ann has her knees pulled up to her chest under her gown. “Gemma,” Felicity offers softly. “I know that it must be hard, coming here and seeing him.”

I nod once. “It’s harder to leave him,” I answer. I feel Ann come closer to me and I sit up a bit straighter. With a sigh I pull myself up from the grass and push back from the tree. My hand comes in contact with the bark and my heart races for a moment. I step back from the tree and look down the hill to where Gorgon waits for us. “We should be getting back,” I continue.

“We could stay a moment, if you need,” Ann offers, rubbing my shoulder with her hand.

“No, there’s no need.” I start off down the hill, at war with myself. When the magic lets me go, it worries me. It feels as though he is no longer there and that is my greatest fear. I lost him once; I cannot stand to lose him again.

When we arrive back at the barge, I take my place at the bow. Felicity and Ann file onboard wordlessly. We are under way, floating lazily down the river slowly when Felicity sidles up beside me. “What do you suppose we should do?” she asks softly, her hand grazing mine. I do not glance to her, afraid of how she may be looking at me. I shrug once, keeping my face carefully turned away.

We stand in silence, watching the river part before the bow of the barge. Behind us Ann is leaned against the railing, watching the Winterlands move past us. I feel Felicity sigh rather than hear her and I instinctively turn toward her. She is staring at me with wide eyes. “We shall have to wait to see what Jedediah brings back to us. If it is enough to warrant the trek into the Underlands, then I will go.”

“You promised Kartik-” Felicity begins.

My eyes narrow and she stops abruptly. “When have I ever kept a promise to Kartik when I truly believed my opinion to be right?” I ask. Felicity shrugs and steps slightly closer to me. “If it concerns Merrily’s safety, I will go to hell alone and face the Devil himself.”

I feel Ann’s hand on my arm and I jolt. I hadn’t felt her step up beside me, yet here she is; silent and soft and sweet. “You will never have to journey anywhere alone, Gemma,” she whispers. “We will always be here, Devil or no Devil.” Felicity nods in agreement and I feel the two of them come in closer to me. We embrace there on the bow of the barge as Gorgon pulls it up to the shore.

“Most High,” Gorgon says, and I turn at the warning in her voice. Standing in the garden is a still form with dark hair and a dress of rags.

We descend from the barge, our eyes fixed on the being. She turns to face us and I gasp. Mae Sutter’s hair is straggly and unkempt and her eyes are pure white with tiny pinpricks of black for pupils. She has red berry smeared all over her cheeks, and lips in a form of savage war paint. I gasp as her eyes meet mine and she holds up a handful to berries. “Join us, for we have found the way,” she calls, offering me the berries.

“Mae,” I reply, taking a step towards her. Gorgon is beside me with her hand on my shoulder before I can continue toward her. “Mae, it’s me, it’s Gemma.”

The girl’s pinpricks get wider and the black fills her eyes. I gasp and back away, fear filling my throat. I want to scream as Mae pulls her hand back and throws the berries at me. They fall at my feet and instantly turn to mush and spill over with maggots. Ann jumps back as Mae turns and flees into the woods like a gazelle.

“What was that?” Felicity whispers after a long moment. I shrug. “We need to figure out what is going on with her.” I nod; six years of silence and suddenly Mae has shown up twice in a few days. Fear clouds my eyes, but I keep my face calm.

I turn toward the glowing door of light at the edge of the garden and say, “Come along, it’s time to get back to London.”


End file.
